


A Long Forgotten Road

by fhartz91



Series: The Rivendell Elf and His Missing Mountain Dwarf [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Community: kbl-reversebang, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, The Hobbit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt, an Elf from Rivendell, is hand-chosen by Lord Elrond to guide Blaine, a Blue Mountain Dwarf, against his father's wishes to a Mountain no one has been to in ages. Kurt is not too thrilled at the idea of acting as a Dwarf babysitter, but he has no choice. This is the one and only chance he'll ever have to leave Rivendell and go on an adventure. Along the way Kurt discovers that this journey and this Dwarf aren't entirely what they seem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leaving Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Riverance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riverance/gifts).



> I happen to be a huge LOTR fan. I tried to do my best to stick to the Tolkien style, however, as this is a romance at heart, there are many times when I needed to stray. Also, I wanted this to be my story, not a Tolkien emulated story, so of course the style will be different overall. I also tried to stay true to the world Tolkien created, but for the purposes of this story I needed to stray there once of twice, too. Timeline wise, this story takes place before the discovery of the One ring by Bilbo Baggins. (Also, I apologize that I did not think up original names for Blaine's brother or the members of his clan and relied on Glee characters, but this is also a Glee story, so I wanted to stick them in where I could). Also, since Kurt's father in this story does not resemble the character of Burt in Glee, he is not specifically named. I hope this all make sense.

Here is a link to the amazing art for this fic by [riverance](http://riverance.tumblr.com/post/94417760363/the-first-art-was-made-for-the-klaine-reverse-bang).

“By the Valar, Dwarf, can you not travel any faster?” Kurt growled in frustration, barreling across the open meadow toward the hillside, speeding up a hair on purpose. “If I am forced to hobble along at your speed, we will be walking this road until _you_ are old and grey.”

The Dwarf didn’t respond, unable to catch enough breath to speak a word. He huffed through his mouth as he put on a burst of speed, doing his best to trod faster behind his reluctant companion. Kurt looked back at the wobbling Dwarf and sighed. Regardless of his grousing, the Elf stopped and waited by the line of trees, listening in the growing dusk for the telltale shuffle of the Dwarf’s feet approaching the base of the hill where the supple green grass transformed into dry underbrush. His footfalls rolled unevenly left to right as he walked, stuttering on the final beat of the last step before he could begin to take a new one. Kurt heard him scurrying his way up the hill behind him and rolled his eyes at the seemingly exaggerated effort made by the runted creature.

“And would you mind breathing through your nose instead of your mouth?” Kurt grumbled. “You pant so loudly I’m amazed that we haven’t already been attacked by every sinister creature within a mile of here just to shut you up.”

The Dwarf – Blaine, he was called, of the Andurinin Clan – looked up at Kurt with apologetic eyes as he fought his already exhausted body to quicken his pace, and Kurt, though he despised all Dwarves on principle, felt his heart hurt for the creature. Blaine was not unhandsome, even if he was a Dwarf, and despite the unfortunate circumstances of his birth, he had a discernible kindness in his face and eyes. But Kurt would not allow himself to be swayed. Blaine was a burden, and that’s the only way Kurt intended to see him from now until their quest was complete.

“I am sorry…Master Elf,” Blaine managed between pants. He came to a stop beside Kurt, who stared down at him with a glare of superiority. Blaine stooped over at the waist with his hands resting on his thighs as he sucked in deep gulps of air to revive his starved lungs. “Would it…be alright…if we…rested a moment?

Kurt rolled his eyes, not hiding the groan that came with it, but he relented. Better to stop a moment and let the Dwarf catch his breath than to have him pass out further up the hill and need to carry him…which Kurt wasn’t entirely convinced he was willing to do.

“Fine,” Kurt said, “but for only a second, Dwarf. We need to make camp up the hillside before it gets too dark.”

Blaine looked up with appreciation at his guide, but then his eyes traveled up the length of the hill, the steep slope spattered with tall, thin trees, already ominous in the growing gloom.

Blaine gulped audibly, his mouth hanging open.

“We will be spending the night…here?” Blaine’s voice trembled slightly, as did his knees. Kurt smirked.

“Yes,” Kurt said, relishing the Dwarf’s fear of the Forest.

Blaine’s eyes stayed glued to the trees, waiting to see if they would move or reach out to them with twisted, wooden fingers, bare like jointed bones, ready to drag them down to the depths of the peat beneath their roots.

“It is said that the trees capture trespassers and bury them below the earth,” Blaine mumbled. “They skewer their bodies with their roots and feed off of them slowly for hundreds of years…while their victims are still alive.”

Blaine gulped again. Kurt wanted to laugh.

“The trees have no reason to kill an Elf,” Kurt said, brimming with confidence from the toes of his shoes to the braids in his chestnut hair, “and I doubt they have a taste for something as sour as Dwarf-flesh.”

Blaine didn’t seem to register the insult, sighing in relief instead. Without asking first if the Dwarf was okay to continue, Kurt turned back to the trail and headed into the woods.

“Lord Elrond says there is a darkness brewing,” Blaine spoke above a whisper, “rumors of a nameless fear. Even if the trees don’t seek to harm us, will it be safe for us inside these woods?”

Kurt took offense to this horrid little beast questioning his sound reasoning and impeccable sense of direction. There were things an Elf’s eyes saw clearly that preferred to stay hidden from the view of Dwarves or Men, and Blaine should simply take heed and trust Kurt’s sight instead of asking so many inane questions.

“We will be fine, Dwarf, as long as you keep your axes to yourself and you follow my lead.” Kurt made it a point not to mention the addition of an Elvish blade in an intricately-tooled scabbard that hung clumsily off the Dwarf’s back. He glared at it enviously, but he did not acknowledge it.

“Well then,” Blaine said with a small, reassured smile aimed at the ill-tempered Elf, “pick a direction, Master Elf, and I shall follow wherever you lead.”

Kurt rolled his eyes at the flowery sentiment. Oh, how he wished this was a quest he could have managed alone. All his life he had longed for an adventure - some noble quest that would give him the chance to explore the world. Here he was, out on the road leading him away from Rivendell and into the unknown…and all he wanted to do was turn around and go back home.

In reality, Kurt had no reason to be angry with Blaine. Far from it. If not for Blaine and his asinine need for an Elf guide, Kurt wouldn’t be on this quest. He would never get to see any of the land that lay beyond the borders of his homeland.

His father would make sure of it.

It had been barely two weeks since a lame and nearly blinded Dwarf was carried into their midst by a company of Silvan Elves from the Forest of Mirkwood. Kurt could only watch from afar. He didn’t have the chance to speak to the wounded Dwarf himself (nor would he want to, really) but no sooner had he arrived than a party of Rivendell Elves were dispatched on horseback to the Blue Mountains. Three days ago, they returned with _this_ Dwarf – this _Blaine_ in tow - and this ridiculous folly fell right into Kurt’s lap. By all accounts, Kurt should feel honored. This task was handed to him by Lord Elrond directly. His father, who had never approved of anything that would bring Kurt accolades or honor of any kind, did not initially approve, but when all was said and done, his father did nothing to hide the fact that he was more than happy to see his youngest son, the bane of his existence, sent away on a fool’s errand in the aid of a Dwarf, no less. What burned Kurt the most was that while he was babysitting runts (truly a runt, for Blaine must have been the tiniest Dwarf that Kurt had ever seen pass through Rivendell), Kurt’s older brother, Finn, was off on a mission of his own, rescuing a prince of the Woodland Realm along with the help of the Silvan Elves and the Rohirrim. The whithertos and the whyfors of that particular quest were not explained to him, and his brother said that he was not at liberty to discuss it.

For his part, Finn admitted so with great regret.

Finn also said that he would miss his brother very much.

Kurt rolled his eyes again, this time at the image of his brother mounting his gorgeous white stead and wearing golden armor, glittering in the sun with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder and a specially crafted sword at his side.

Such a contrast to Kurt, who trundled along on foot through the grass, clothed in hand-me-down tunics and an ill-fitting leather vest, armed with a single blade and an aged bow, his quiver barely competent to hold the eleven arrows it contained. The only thing new that he wore was his jacket – a gift from his stepmother.

He couldn’t fault his brother (actually, his half-brother), though. He could never blame Finn. Finn was an unusual Elf – muscular instead of lithe, tan instead of fair. He bore the look of a Dúnadan Ranger, which might have been why he was sought out for his quest. Apart from all that, he was also the kindest, the most giving, if maybe not always the most intuitive Elf in all of Rivendell. He didn’t dream of adventure the way Kurt did, and that was part of the heartache attached to watching him leave. His eyes looked longingly back while all other eyes were steered forward, and the sorrow on his face had been palpable, even from a distance.

Finn deserved whatever honors his quest showered upon him. So, as beleaguered as he found himself at the indifference of his father, he offered up a prayer to the Valar, asking for Finn’s safe return.

“You know, I’ve never really met an Elf before,” Blaine piped up, shaking Kurt from his musings. They had walked on for hours, more or less in silence, since the moment they had set out from Rivendell, not for any lack of trying on Blaine’s part. The Dwarf seemed to find agony in quiet, and asked question after question, which Kurt answered only with a grunt or a non-committal nod or shake of his head. Once Blaine realized that Kurt was disinclined to talk, the insufferable Dwarf started to sing. A few miles in, he became comfortable with the woods and he sang loudly, entirely unaware of the dangers that lurked even in the brightest lit and most welcoming looking places in the Forest.

It wasn’t simply the trees that they had need to fear.

Appearances could be deceiving, especially when it came to the dark spaces that lay in between the rocks and the trees. Several times Kurt scolded the Dwarf, regardless of how sweet and soothing his voice proved to be, how it seemed to speed their journey along to have his music fill the air.

Blaine stayed silently obedient for hours, and if not for his constant heavy stomping through the crunching leaves (almost for his own amusement) or his labored breathing, Kurt might have been able to convince himself that he was travelling on this quest alone.

“I said, I’ve never really met an Elf before,” Blaine repeated, raising his voice as a courtesy in case Kurt had not heard him the first time.

“Really,” Kurt replied in a flat and disinterested manner.

“Really,” Blaine said, encouraged by the Elf’s rare response. “I’ve heard a lot about them, though.”

“Have you…” Kurt sighed with exaggerated frustration in a passive-aggressive attempt to get the Dwarf to keep quiet.

“Oh, yes,” Blaine continued, puffing as he attempted to keep up. “I have heard they are magic. That they are born of the Angels and sent here as caretakers of Middle-earth.” Blaine sighed, looking up at the sky, starry-eyed. “Oh, but to be blessed with such glorious purpose.”

Kurt laughed.

“Yes,” Kurt said, “I imagine that would sound wonderful and mystical to you, but it’s not exactly true.”

“It’s not?” Blaine asked with surprise.

“No, Master Dwarf,” Kurt spat, “it’s not.”

In Kurt’s head, he could hear his father laughing cruelly at this Dwarf’s rosy-colored perception of Kurt’s purpose in this equation.

Dwarf guide.

Babysitter.

That’s all Kurt really was.

“Blaine.”

“Excuse me?” Kurt snapped.

“You keep calling me Dwarf, but my name is Blaine.”

“I know your name, _Dwarf_ ,” Kurt said with little concern for the Dwarf’s feelings on the subject of his name.

Kurt marched his Dwarf companion to near exhaustion, not stopping until every trace of the sun was erased from the sky and the stars had come out – every last one - in the hopes that Blaine would succumb to sleep and finally leave him in peace. It worked better than Kurt had expected, and for that, he felt a pang of guilt, for the bone-tired Dwarf crawled immediately into his bedroll and fell asleep without taking even a bite of his dinner.

Maybe a bitter Elf, but not entirely uncompassionate, Kurt made a mental note to make that up to the Dwarf at breakfast.

They slept out in the open, sheltered by the ruins of an old vacant watchtower. With no fire to warm them, they huddled inside their bedrolls completely clothed with shoes and jackets as well – separately, but close enough to be of aid to one another in case of an unexpected Orc attack. Blaine snored while he slept - his breathing coming in even, stuttering inhales and long, smooth exhales. Kurt lay awake, staring up at the starlight – each one a memory, precious and pure.

He sorted through the stars, some dim, others bright, wondering which ones held the memories of his mother.

The events of the day played through his mind, each second from his visit with Lord Elrond to the moment he left the borders of his homeland. His father did not come to see him off, but his stepmother did, to give him her present and to wish him farewell, but most of all to make him promise to keep himself safe and return to her. She held him tight in her arms and cried, and Kurt knew that he would miss her dearly.

Lord Elrond had put his hands on Kurt’s shoulders and given him his blessing. He told him that the blessings and good wishes of all the Elves of Rivendell traveled along with him.

“Keep the Dwarf safe,” he had said quietly in Kurt’s ear so only he could hear, “for he may hold the future of renewing our alliance with the Dwarves.”

Kurt hadn’t said a word, but in the silence that followed, in itself a question, Lord Elrond continued, “A day may come when a friendship with the Seven Kingdoms of the Dwarves may have a part in determining the future of all of Middle-earth.”

None of it made sense to Kurt. Middle-earth, as far as Kurt knew, was in no danger. Orcs and Trolls and Goblins kept to themselves, and were of no concern to the Elves of Rivendell since they never came anywhere close to their shores and borders.

“And be wary, Kurt,” he said finally, “a nameless Evil is growing, a great distance from here, but you walk in its shadow, you follow in its footsteps, and I fear that the farther you walk from us, the closer you may come to it turning its eye on you.”

Apparently, Lord Elrond had hinted the same to Blaine. Kurt wondered what else the Great Elf Lord had said to his Dwarf companion.

Kurt would think of those words over and over as his eyes fell closed, as he drifted off to sleep, but not deep enough to ignore the passing of the world around them, the wind as it carried with it the far-off scent of danger, the sounds of horses and wolves and rabbits and mice and other animals skittering across the land, and the feel of the sun as it began to warm the sky. What seemed like the mere blink of an eye later saw Kurt packing up his things and rousing Blaine from what appeared to be a blissful sleep if the smile on his face was any indication.

Kurt shook his head in amazement. This Dwarf would probably be the death of him.

The rays of a new sun barely touched the horizon when Elf and Dwarf set out on their journey again.

 


	2. An Unparalleled View

Kurt foraged ahead as they walked, doing his best to find a suitable breakfast for Blaine. Before they left the hilltop ruins, Blaine had unpacked a bit of jerky, which he ate, and some lembas bread from Rivendell that he left untouched. Kurt still felt responsible for the fact that exhaustion had driven the Dwarf not to eat the night before. Kurt lucked upon some apples growing on an obliging tree along the path that they travelled, as well as some ripe berries, all of which he offered to Blaine without explanation.

Blaine accepted these unsolicited gifts graciously, hiding a small, secretive smile when he did.

They walked while they ate, enjoying their bounty beneath the blossoming morning sun.

Kurt did not need to scold Blaine for talking this time. In fact, Blaine remained uncharacteristically quiet as they took the trail that led through another small stretch of Forest. The trees that flanked them were not too dense here, and it was easy to see what kept pace beside them, be it snake or rabbit or doe. They traveled in a straight line, as there was no room to walk side-by-side, which suited Kurt just fine.

But the silence, which the Elf should have been grateful for, became bothersome to Kurt.

Kurt peeked over his shoulder, wondering what had captured the Dwarf’s attention so completely that he had gone from his non-stop mindless muttering of the day before to sudden, absolute quiet. Blaine seemed to be engaged in doing nothing but staring straight ahead, lost in thought, with a dopey smile on his lips. Kurt turned back to the trail ahead of him and considered Blaine’s expression for a moment. Here they were on this journey, a treacherous one at that, picking their way through some of the most dangerous country ever mapped by Man or Elf, and this stunted creature was daydreaming – and delightedly so. Kurt looked back again, measuring out the level of Blaine’s eyes, trying to decide what exactly it was that the Dwarf was gazing so fondly at.

Kurt’s forehead wrinkled as his thoughts came to only one conclusion.

_Could he…is he…_

Kurt turned back around and gasped in alarm, his thoughts reeling.

_That horrid, disgusting mutant creature is staring at my rear!_

Kurt couldn’t be sure, but with one more glance backward, he saw Blaine biting his lower lip, while the dreamy, far-off look in his eyes grew brighter. Kurt blushed straight to the roots of his hair. He wasn’t sure what to do. How exactly should he go about asking this Dwarf to stop staring with moony eyes at his behind? What if Kurt was wrong? What if Blaine was staring not out of want, but by circumstance? What if Blaine could not help himself? What if he had no other choice? The trail, narrow as it was, offered nothing much else to look at. If you’ve seen one tree, bush, or stretch of grass, then you’ve seen it all. Quite dull and mind numbing, to tell the truth. Yes…that had to be the case. Kurt decided to be civil about the whole situation and let it lie. After all, Blaine couldn’t rightly be blamed for his unfortunate stature. The Elf would leave the matter be and therefore accept that it was simply a hazard of the mutant creature’s height that forced him to stare at Kurt’s rear, the way a common ass on the trail must keep his eyes fixed on the stallion that leads it along, wherever those eyes may happen to fall.

Still, it distracted Kurt - in a peculiar way that he didn’t understand - but nonetheless, he really wished the Dwarf would stop.

“Is there some way in which I can help you?” Kurt asked, hoping to divert the Dwarf’s attention away from his behind.

“Uh…” Blaine snapped his head up and met Kurt’s eyes, his cheeks darkening with the embarrassment of being caught staring – whatever the reason. He at least had the dignity to appear appropriately ashamed. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

Kurt smirked, finding it quite amusing to fluster the Dwarf.

“I asked if there was some way I could help you,” Kurt repeated, “since you seem to be exceptionally lost in thought.”

“Oh,” Blaine said, and though his face glowed red with chagrin, he smiled congenially, “I was just wondering, Master Elf, how long do you expect our journey will take?”

“It will take as long as it takes, _Master Dwarf_ ,” Kurt said, imbuing the title with all the derision he could muster.

“Well, how long is that, do you suspect?” Blaine repeated the question in a different way in the hopes of getting a more direct answer.

“An Elf traveling at full speed and with no stops should be able to make the journey in about ten days,” Kurt said. “A full grown Man would make the journey in about fourteen. Traveling your speed, I imagine we’ll be there by winter at the earliest.”

Blaine laughed.

“But it is only spring,” he said.

“Precisely,” Kurt returned sharply.

Blaine looked up at Kurt with mildly hurt eyes, his good-natured smile slipping from his lips.

“What reason do you have for hating Dwarves, Master Elf?” Blaine asked, tilting his head to look up at his companion, one arm thrown across his forehead to block out the sun.

Kurt bit his lip to contain his anger but he found it difficult. Questioning Kurt’s motives was insult unto injury. Just because he had to drag this Dwarf across Middle-earth didn’t mean he had to justify himself.

“Because your kind are greedy and selfish!” Kurt replied, boiling over with self-righteousness. “You care nothing for our world or the creatures in it. You live to dig and destroy and to horde gold.” Kurt pointed an accusatory finger at Blaine, and Blaine jumped back. “See there, in your scabbard. You carry a sword of Elvish make, forged by my kin, and for what purpose? You have two axes to fight with. You have no need of it! If I know the nature of Dwarves, you mean to sell it, and you have no idea of it’s true worth.”

Kurt expected his haughty speech to still Blaine’s tongue permanently, if either by anger or humility, and shut him up for the remainder of their trip, but instead, the Dwarf smiled wide with an inexplicable glimmer in his honey-gold eyes.

“I was told that Elves are cold, but look at you!” Blaine commented. “Full of heat and passion to put dragon fire to shame. Yes, I carry an Elvish blade, and yes, I do have an idea of its worth.”

Kurt turned on Blaine, glaring down at him with all the fire of his rage burning through his steel blue eyes, demanding an explanation without speaking a single word aloud.

“It is priceless, Master Elf,” Blaine said with a half-smile curling the right edge of his mouth, “because it was a gift from Lord Elrond himself. And a gift from a friend is truly worth all the gold in the Lonely Mountain, or all the gold in all the mines of Middle-earth, indeed.”

Blaine’s smile grew and took with it the color from Kurt’s face.

“Uh…exactly,” Kurt said, recovering from his shock. “Quite right. Priceless, indeed.” Kurt’s eyes shifted ahead, following where the trail spit out into a clearing. “There,” he said, indicating with his raised finger to a point in the distance that his Elf eyes could see and Blaine’s eyes could not, “across that field of tall grass is a rock cave. We can camp there for the evening.”

Kurt turned his eyes back to the trail, their fire thoroughly extinguished, not even an ember of their original blaze remaining, and it was his own tongue that stayed still for the most part as they made their way to the campsite.

The grass in the meadow beyond the tress was tall and lush, vibrantly green, and nearly hid Blaine completely, which made Kurt chuckle in private. Blaine ducked down from time to time and disappeared entirely from view, just to pop up again as if he was sprouting out from the ground.

“What _are_ you doing?” Kurt asked, hiding another chuckle.

“I’m setting traps,” Blaine said, short of breath. “I intend to have fresh meat for dinner tonight and not jerky.” Blaine ducked down again, and then hopped up, catching Kurt’s eyes as the Elf watched the Dwarf work. “I invite you to dine with me, of course,” he said, his voice soft, the same voice he used when he sang, but before Kurt could answer him, the Dwarf squirreled away, the only trace of him being the sway of the grass in his wake.

Kurt shook his head, but left Blaine to his work, bobbing up and down in the foliage.

Kurt didn’t like to admit that he spent the remainder of that day pondering the enigma that was Blaine. He had heard many tales of Dwarves and of the broken alliances between them and the Elves. Dwarves were not creatures of their word. They toiled only for personal gain. They dug too deep into the Mountains, often times releasing old world demons lain dormant for more than any one Elf’s age, save maybe Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel. They speak never a kind word, and in general should not be trusted.

But Blaine spoke _only_ kind words. Could he be trusted?

As they put together their camp, Kurt caught Blaine’s eyes watch him on more than one occasion. Slightly unnerved by this attention, Kurt decided to try and learn the Dwarf’s secrets.

“So, Dwarf,” Kurt said gruffly despite his best attempts at being courteous, “what is it that you do?”

Blaine’s face went from an expression of admiration to one of confusion.

“What do I _do_?” he asked to be sure that he heard Kurt’s question correctly.

“Yes,” Kurt said. “This is a quest of some importance, is it not?”

“Of the utmost,” Blaine agreed with a nod of his head, his scruffy black curls bouncing when he did, “or else they wouldn’t have given me _you_ as my guide.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but with that gesture came a smile he couldn’t quell.

“Such pretty words are wasted on me, Dwarf,” Kurt said, focusing on setting up the campsite so that Blaine would not see the smile he fought to erase.

“I don’t think they are,” Blaine countered with a smile of his own.

Kurt rolled his eyes again, but more fondly this time.

“Answer the question, please, Blaine,” Kurt said. “What do you do?”

Kurt didn’t seem to realize that for the first time he had used Blaine’s proper name, but the slip didn’t pass by Blaine unnoticed. He stopped working and swallowed, his breath hitching at the sound of his Elf guide calling him by name.

“I…I make axes,” Blaine stuttered.

Kurt looked up at him, his nose scrunching when a more lengthy explanation was not forthcoming.

“Is that all?” he asked.

Blaine pulled himself a little higher, drew his back a little straighter.

“Well, it’s an important job where I come from,” he defended.

Kurt thought it over. He supposed that making axes was a very important job to a Dwarf. Those who made swords among the Elves were revered for their skill. But Blaine wore only simple garments – old skins and leathers – that put even Kurt’s simple hand-me-downs to shame. Yet Lord Elrond would have Kurt believe that this Dwarf might be the key to reforging alliances. _He_ might be the one to help form the paths of future relationships between Elves and Dwarves. Kurt looked Blaine over from head to toe and back, trying to connect the importance of their great quest to this humble axe maker.

“You make axes,” Kurt repeated.

“Yes,” Blaine affirmed, laying out his bedroll and setting down his pack beside his axes and his Elven blade.

Kurt sat cross-legged and watched Blaine carefully.

“Are you a Prince among your people?” he asked thoughtfully. Kurt figured the answer would be that Blaine was not, but it never hurt to ask. Kurt had never seen a Dwarf Prince. Maybe Blaine could be one. It would make sense in some ways.

Blaine chuckled. He gathered up rocks that lay scattered about their campsite and constructed a fire ring.

“Nope.”

Kurt opened his pack and reached inside, pulling out his dinner – lembas bread wrapped in a folded leaf.

“A leader?” Kurt asked, taking a bite.

“Nope.” Blaine shook his head, the curl of his lips holding a carefully guarded secret. “I just make axes.”

“So,” Kurt said, resentment coloring his voice, “I am risking my life to guide Blaine of the Andurinin Clan, _axe_ maker, through the barrens, and an Orc filled landscape, to what is more than likely a Troll infested Mountain?”

Blaine looked back at Kurt with a wide, toothy grin.

“And for that, I am eternally grateful.”

It suddenly struck Kurt that he wasn’t entirely sure _why_ they were headed to this Mountain, or why it was that Blaine relied so heavily on Kurt to find it. Why did Blaine need an Elf guide? Why not go to the Mountain in the company of Dwarves? Kurt assumed that what Blaine was after was treasure. All any Dwarf cared for was treasure, no matter how charming or noble they seemed, but no treasure of the Dwarves would be of concern to an Elf, so why did Lord Elrond put such store in it?

“Take him safely to the Mountain,” was all Kurt had been told.

He didn’t feel right questioning the intentions of the Great Elf Lord. Kurt guessed he was told all that he needed to know.

Blaine started the fire, almost with imperceptible speed. Kurt had never been one for camping, and he was quietly impressed by Blaine’s skill in the matter. Blaine left the fire briefly with what looked like a piece of twine and a couple of sticks. When he returned, he had a handful of rabbits grasped in his grubby fist from the traps he had set along the way. He held them up proudly, raising his eyebrows, quietly offering Kurt some of his catch, but Kurt turned up his nose.

“Have you eaten, Kurt?” Blaine asked, setting the plump creatures down and getting to work skinning them carefully and putting the pelts aside to dry.

“That I have,” Kurt replied, showing Blaine the square of lembas bread he was frugally taking bites from.

Blaine scoffed.

“But that’s barely a nibble,” Blaine commented. “That cannot be enough.”

“It is,” Kurt said. “A single bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown Man.”

Blaine pulled a face and laughed heartily.

“Aye, I’ve heard of that Elvish waybread. I’ve even tried a bit back at Rivendell. I couldn’t really stomach it, to tell you the truth,” Blaine admitted sheepishly. Kurt watched with veiled interest as Blaine filleted and prepared the animals, spitting them and putting them over the flames.

“How did you learn to do that?” Kurt asked.

“My father taught me,” Blaine said proudly. “He first took me out snaring rabbits when I could barely walk.” Blaine smiled at the memory. “What did your father teach you, Kurt?”

“What?” Kurt asked, not fully understanding the question.

“What do fathers teach young Elves?” Blaine asked. “Rivendell is surrounded by rivers and waterfalls. Did he teach you to fish?” Blaine cocked his head. “Do Elves eat fish, or just bread?”

Kurt knew that Blaine didn’t mean any harm; he hadn’t intentionally wandered onto a subject that caused Kurt pain, but Kurt lashed out anyway without meaning to.

“My father taught me nothing,” Kurt said in a clipped voice, turning his back on the fire and laying on his bedroll, effectively ending the conversation.

Kurt lay on his side with his back to the fire, the rich smell of meat crackling in the air around him. The smell made him hungry, to be completely honest, but his stomach turned sour at the thought of his father. What was the last thing his dad had attempted to teach him? Kurt tried hard to remember. The only thing that came to mind was when he had tried to teach Kurt how to use a bow. Kurt had been so young then, barely older than four – such a long time ago. Kurt’s father had been a kind and attentive spirit before then – such an attentive father.

It was those lessons that had born the resentment between them.

Kurt glanced at his bow, sitting beside his sword, and scowled.

 _If only_ , Kurt thought, pulling his arms around himself and hugging his chest tight. _If only_.

 


	3. The Missing Mountain

“Everything around here looks exactly the same,” Blaine muttered tiredly, shuffling his feet and kicking up the dust and gravel. “Every rock and hill and swell of the land, all these trees and grass.” He sighed.

It was the first time that Kurt had heard Blaine sound even the slightest bit discouraged. Kurt suspected that the early mornings and the long days of walking nonstop were getting to him – possibly as a consequence of that limp menacing him, though he didn’t outright complain about it. _Didn’t Blaine, axe maker, live in the Blue Mountains?_ Kurt thought ruefully. _How can the bleak greyness of the Mountains dishearten a Dwarf? If anything, it should remind him of home and bring him gladness and hope._  

Three days it had taken them to cross the Misty Mountains, walking from before sun up to after sun down, resting in cold, dank caves that smelled of musty, decaying fish, and which catered to creatures who fed only at dusk. The haunting chitter of unseen teeth ripping and tearing at rotting flesh plagued the Elf and Dwarf all night long.  Kurt knew that Blaine had not slept well, regardless of his overwhelming exhaustion. By the second day, Blaine ceased to speak at all, he hadn’t sung a verse, and Kurt regretted how much he missed the sound of the Dwarf’s voice.

Kurt had thought the road out of the Mountain, rocky as it was, would bring back Blaine’s humor, being entirely downhill and easier to traverse, but it only seemed to vex his injured leg more.

“How do you possibly know where we’re going?” Blaine whimpered in a distinctly un-Dwarf-like manner.

“I have a map,” Kurt said. He held aloft a rolled-up piece of worn paper in his hand, shaking it for Blaine to see.

“I did not know you had a map,” Blaine said, his eyes wide.

“Well, I do.” Kurt returned the map to the pouch on his belt.

“I would like to see it,” Blaine said eagerly, hurrying to catch up.

“If you wanted to look at a map, then you should have brought one, Dwarf,” Kurt teased.

“Well, can you not show me where we are going?” Blaine implored.

Kurt snickered, happy to hear Blaine speak again.

“You just want to peek at my map,” Kurt said, his nose upturned.

“No,” Blaine pouted, “tis for curiosity, to be sure, but for safety, too. In case something happens and we are separated. We can agree upon a landmark and we will be able to find one another again.”

Kurt sighed. As much as it pained him to admit it - and it pained him quite a bit - Blaine made sense.

Kurt pulled the map from its pouch on his belt and unrolled it. Blaine took hold of the ends of it, spreading it flat so Kurt could point out landmarks.

“Here is where we left Rivendell,” Kurt said, pointing to its location on the map. “And here are the hilltops where we camped the first night.”

Blaine nodded as Kurt traced the path they had travelled so far.

“We will travel this road here,” Kurt said, “skirt the Forest here…”

Blaine’s eyes skimmed the map, trying to find the Mountain he was searching for.

“So, where do we end up?” Blaine asked, anxious to lay eyes on their destination.

Kurt tutted at the Dwarf’s impatience, bringing his finger to rest in the center of a large, empty expanse of land to the Northeast. Blaine squinted, and then brought the map up to his face, trying to find any trace of his Mountain. As far as the map was concerned, the Mountain in question didn’t even exist.

“But…but there’s no _there_ there!” Blaine exclaimed, looking at the map with what Kurt perceived as terror. Blaine’s reaction confused Kurt. He shook his head.

“I don’t understand. This is your family home,” Kurt said. “The Mountain of your kin. Has none of your clan been to it? How do you not know where it is?”

Blaine turned the map upside down, then right side up. He flipped it over in his hands but his destination was nowhere to be seen.

“In almost a Dwarves’ age, only one has dared enter its halls again,” Blaine said, looking with despair at the vacant space on the map.

“What happened to him?” Kurt asked, surprised at himself for being curious when the matter shouldn’t concern him at all.

“We do not speak of it.” Blaine swallowed thickly, rolling the map up again and returning it to its owner. “He never returned.”

“Never returned?” Kurt asked with alarm. “What do you mean _never returned_?”

Blaine didn’t answer. His face remained blank as he stared at the ground. Kurt didn’t like this silence as an answer. He didn’t like being sent into the wilds with no idea what he was up against or what he was doing. He felt like a pawn and he didn’t appreciate being used. These outer reaches beyond the safety of Elf country were not secure. Out here, beneath the ever changing canopy of the Forests, they might well encounter Orcs, Spiders, Trolls...

Kurt could die out here and he wouldn’t even know what he had died for.

“What are _we_ doing out here Blaine?” he blurted out. “What am I taking you to this Mountain for?”

Blaine looked up slowly, staring into the Elf’s distraught face, blue eyes flashing with the first traces of fear he had seen from Kurt.

“This is for treasure, isn’t it?” Kurt groused. “I’m doing all of this so that you can recover treasure?” Kurt didn’t wait for the Dwarf to answer. He threw his arms up to the sky and groaned. “There’s probably a Dragon in that Mountain, ready to burn us alive and swallow us whole, isn’t there?” Kurt grimaced. “That’s why no one is telling me. That’s why they chose me. That’s why my father had no problem letting me go. He was finally getting rid of his worthless son!”

Kurt panted out his anger with his hands gripping his knees, bent over, preparing to be sick. When he caught a glimpse of Blaine - when he finally seemed to remember that the Dwarf was standing not a few feet away while he threw his tantrum – the poor Dwarf’s tan face blanched, his hazel eyes the size of saucers, his mouth hanging open in shock.

Kurt took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming down now that his ire had cooled.

“You are right,” Blaine said, stunned. Something about Kurt’s tantrum had startled Blaine, and the voice he spoke with was meeker, reserved. “Not about the Dragon…or about being worthless…” Blaine clarified. “We’re…we’re going to the Mountain for treasure. That’s all. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

Kurt felt his heart slow its racing, though he was unaware that it had started racing at all. That’s because it hadn’t started when Kurt got angry.

It started when Blaine said that Kurt wasn’t worthless.

“What kind of treasure?” Kurt asked, being conversational to make amends for his horrible behavior.

“It’s…it’s sacred,” Blaine explained. “It’s called the Heart of the Andurinin Clan. My people have been without it for a long time…” Blaine’s eyes darted to the sky, following a wisp of cloud overhead as a Southern breeze pushed it along. “For too long. That’s what we’re going for.”

Kurt looked at his companion, his eyes narrowing. He wasn’t entirely convinced that what Blaine had said was indeed all, but he had no right to pry, especially not with the way he had acted. He nodded his head in acceptance of Blaine’s explanation, and left it at that.

“Come along then,” Kurt said, returning to himself and hoping that soon Blaine would, too. “Let’s get you to your Mountain.”

***

“I thought you said we were going to _skirt_ the Forest?” Blaine asked, shrinking beneath the overhanging branches of the golden trees that they passed underneath. “This one…this one feels more foreboding than the last.”

“I dare not travel anywhere near the Forest of Fangorn,” Kurt said. “Many Elves say that those trees are on the verge of waking up, and I, for one, do not want to be anywhere near there when they do. _These_ trees border the lands of Lothlorien.” Kurt gestured to the trees with his hand.

“So, we are safe here?” Blaine asked, ever the hopeful one.

“No,” Kurt admitted. “But we are safer here than near Fangorn, and safer at the moment than out in the meadow.”

Blaine stopped walking.

“Why?” Blaine sounded smaller than conceivable with the whisper of that one little word. “What have you seen that I have not?”

Kurt waved a hand in the air, dismissing Blaine’s fears.

“I swear that I have seen nothing,” Kurt said, and it was the truth. Kurt saw nothing out of the ordinary, but he felt something. A presence lurking - something dark, yes, and distant…thankfully very distant. But whatever it was noticed them as they passed out of the Mountains, and it seemed to follow their progress to Lothlorien closely. It’s eye, however, did not seem to pierce through the magical veil woven among the branches of the mallorn trees that made up the Forest of Lothlorien.

Blaine looked about him fearfully with his axes held at the ready. He tiptoed over the fallen logs and decaying branches, but even those careful footsteps sounded like the trampling of oliphants to Kurt’s ears. He winced with every snapped twig, every crackling dry leaf, until he almost snapped.

“I’ve heard tales of Lothlorien,” Blaine said, pausing to swallow hard. “I’ve heard that there are dangerous things alive in these woods…and even more dangerous things that were once alive and now dead. Insects that once fed off blood and now feed off of mortal souls. Dismembered hands that crawl about by themselves and strangle weary travelers who fall asleep in the underbrush, all under the control of a powerful and wrathful Elf Witch.”

“Elf Witch,” Kurt scoffed. “Are those the stories you tell Dwarf children to keep them underground?” He turned over his shoulder and saw Blaine’s fear, his eyes wide and owlish, his axes trembling in his hands. It was comical but Kurt felt his heart grow heavy at his companion’s anxiety.

“Do not believe everything you hear,” Kurt informed him, “though you are right to be cautious. Actually, all woods are dangerous, for they almost all hold a grudge.”

“A grudge?”

“Yes,” Kurt said in a whisper out of respect for the trees. “There was a time when the trees and Men and Dwarves and Elves were friends. The trees didn’t stay in their Forests. They traveled about, seeding the land, making new Forests grow, but they were all of them betrayed.”

“Betrayed?” A large winged predator passed overhead, its shadow falling upon them, and Blaine’s axe handles clattered together. “B-by who?”

Kurt sighed in sorrow at the memory.

“By Men…and Dwarves…” he admitted.

“But not by Elves?”

“No,” Kurt said definitely. “Not by Elves. You forget that the trees, the grass, the flowers, all things that grow were put here by the Valier Yavanna. It was the Elves who taught the trees to speak. The Fangorn Forest is protected by the Treehearders – Ents they are called. Lothlorien is the fairest of all Elf realms, guarded by the Lady Galadriel. We are safe among these trees because they exist out of time, as a haven, but we cannot tarry here for long, or we will soon come to forget all that is important to us.”

“And what about Mirkwood?” Blaine asked.

“The wood-Elves live in Mirkwood, keeping their trees safe.”

“I have heard that the Elves of Mirkwood are less wise than the Elves of Rivendell,” Blaine said cautiously.

“I do not speak unkindly of my kind,” Kurt said, his voice stern, a warning, “but yes. They are a bit more wild than wise.”

“I almost took you for an Elf of Mirkwood,” Blaine confessed. Kurt looked at him with questioning eyes. “Because you are wild, but you are also wise. Maybe you move between two worlds, and you don’t even know it.”

Kurt blushed beyond his control, and bit his lip as he focused on the road ahead.

They traveled almost the entire length of the wood before Kurt dared to venture back out again. They left Lothlorien behind and followed the banks of Anduin - The Great River, finding shelter right on the brink of the Field of Celebrant. Kurt didn’t dare attempt crossing the river in the dark. He worried not for himself, but for his worn-out companion. A Dwarf at full steam would have difficulty negotiating the swiftly moving water.

Blaine at his current capacity would surely be swept away.

They could tackle that crossing in the morning.

They sat together in the dark shelter of an overhanging rock, in the quiet that seemed to reach out to them from the woods all around and snuff out any sound. Bats and owls, which Kurt would have sensed with his acute Elf hearing, did not fly overhead. The crickets did not chirp, and nocturnal animals did not scurry about looking for food. All of this filled Kurt with a sense of foreboding that in the clearing beyond their hidden cave full of green, lush grasses and dotted with wildflowers, petals closed in the hush of sleep, a deathly silence loomed, as if the beauty of nature was simply a façade hiding a great Evil from their sight.

Blaine, however, sensed none of this. He sat unaware, content to turn the rabbits he had snared on the spit over the fire, and cleaned the dirt and grass off of his axe blades. Every once in a while, he would peek out into the dark night sky, at the stars twinkling above them, and smile so sweetly that it tugged at Kurt’s heart, and he had to turn his gaze away from it. Blaine didn’t have the same burdens and woes that Kurt carried. Why would he? He was a Dwarf. Dwarves led such simple lives – digging and mining and searching for treasure. Duty and being honor-bound meant nothing to them.

Well, maybe nothing to Dwarves in general, but Blaine…Blaine seemed different.

Kurt didn’t want to dwell. The winds changed, swirling a small eddy of pebbles and stones around the circle of firelight, causing it to flicker and dance, and with it came the smell of something dangerous lurking in the wood.

Anything that would dare venture near Fangorn Forest was worth being feared.

Kurt’s eyes flicked up and unexpectedly caught Blaine’s, honey-gold in the light of the fire, that insufferable little impish grin on his lips. Kurt rolled his eyes, but there was no denying the blush coloring his cheeks, and he moved closer to the heat of the flames to give himself a proper alibi.

“Tell me about you,” Blaine asked shyly.

“About me?” Kurt asked.

“Or about your people,” Blaine covered quickly. “I rarely see Elves, and I find your kind so fascinating.”

Kurt gazed into the fire, listening to the tinder hiss and snap as it burned. He suspected that Blaine was searching for an explanation behind his outburst, especially considering the mention of his father, but Kurt was not prepared to give him one.

“The Eldar value light,” Kurt began. “All light is sacred. We choose to live in view of the stars and each Elf in turn values light differently, for their own reasons. It guides our path through life.”

As Kurt spoke, Blaine pulled the meat from the fire. He broke off the choicest portion and handed it to Kurt. Kurt wanted to refuse. He had longed to try it, but it didn’t seem right. Blaine had trapped the animal, skinned it and cooked it. He had even started the campfire, but here he was offering the best piece of the rabbit to Kurt for his dinner. Kurt put up a hand to wave the meat away, but there was a pleading look in Blaine’s eyes that melted Kurt’s heart, as much as he would never want to admit their effect on him. So he took the meat with a nod of thanks. He pulled a piece from the bone with his fingers and popped it in his mouth under Blaine’s watchful gaze, taking a moment to gather his thoughts while he chewed.

It tasted amazing, so much more than he had ever thought possible. His family mostly ate vegetables, but living beside the river, they dined on fish and those birds that cherished the water, and even then only on the rare occasion. He pulled off another piece and placed it on his tongue, closing his eyes and allowing the savory tang of game to fill his mouth before he started to chew. The flavor of the tender meat flooded his mouth, and he hummed with the pleasure it gave him. Kurt opened his eyes and saw Blaine’s eyes shining back at him, but instead of that same honey-gold color, they were darker, almost a match to the dancing firelight.

The change excited Kurt, but now was not the time to linger on it, or what the change might mean. He chose to push it aside, but to show his thanks, he decided to give Blaine something a little more personal.

“My father treasures the daylight,” Kurt continued, turning his attention back to the meat in his hands. “More time for work, less time for dreaming.”

“He sounds very much like a Dwarf,” Blaine said, chewing his piece of rabbit and staring thoughtfully into the fire.

Kurt’s first instinct was to be offended. His father wasn’t necessarily the most honorable Elf in Rivendell, but being compared to a Dwarf seemed harsh even for him. He looked through the fire and saw Blaine – strange, enigmatic Blaine, such a walking contradiction, never anything but kind and polite, and unerringly forgiving. Then Kurt thought of his father - greedy and ambitious, caring more for status and power than any other Elf he had ever met.

Kurt chuckled once.

“You know,” he said finally, “I’m inclined to agree.”

“What is your favorite light?” Blaine asked, eyes once again smiling and twinkling with firelight. “If you don’t mind me asking…I mean, I don’t know if that’s too personal a question to ask an Elf, seeing as it’s so important to you and all.”

Kurt broke a piece of bone in half and tossed it into the fire, listening to it crackle and pop as he thought about Blaine’s question, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because no one had ever thought to ask him before.

“My favorite light is the light at sunrise,” Kurt said. “The first rays of day that pierce the veil of darkness. It seems so triumphant, so hopeful - the herald of a new day bringing something brilliant and exciting.”

Blaine nodded as he thought over Kurt’s answer.

“Well, I have never put too much store in light – day or night,” Blaine admitted. He finished what was left of his meat and picked up his whetstone, running it over the blade of his axe.

“That’s because you’re a Dwarf,” Kurt said in an unflattering way that made Blaine flinch, and Kurt’s heart immediately swelled with guilt. “Your kind spend so much time in the Mountain,” Kurt amended, trying to soften the blow of his heinous remark. “I imagine you find other ways to mark the time of day.”

Blaine didn’t look up into his Elf companion’s eyes, but he nodded, thankful to Kurt for trying to fix his mistake.

“But, I do like rainbows,” Blaine spoke up. “Does that count?”

Kurt laughed lightly and shook his head.

“It does,” Kurt said, “it does.” Kurt watched Blaine, so involved in cleaning his blade, marveling at the contrast between the crude weapon and its compassionate owner. “You are an odd one, Master Dwarf,” Kurt chuckled.

Blaine’s whetstone stopped along the edge of his blade.

“Please, call me Blaine.” A slight flush colored Blaine’s cheeks, visible even through the shadows thrown by the dim light of the fire.

Kurt tilted his head, raising an arched eyebrow in question.

“You refer to me as Dwarf so often,” Blaine explained, looking down at the blade of his axe and picking off an errant piece of grass, “but I like it ever so much when you call me by my name.”

Kurt hadn’t cared at all before what Blaine preferred to be called, but now Kurt found it mattered to him…it mattered very much.

“Of course,” Kurt said, his eyes and his voice softening. “You are an odd one, _Blaine_ …treasured son of the Andurinin Clan.”

 


	4. The Dark Army

All through the night, Kurt heard them coming – the heavy footsteps of Orcs travelling at speed along the shore of the river, and they seemed to be headed directly their way. Kurt kept his ear to the ground and a weather eye on their swords. His and Blaine’s swords were both ancient Elvish blades. Forged by the Elves of Gondolin, they would glow blue when Orcs came near.

For now, they remained a cold, shimmering steel lying dormant and still beneath the starlit sky, with no alarm to raise.

Kurt extinguished the campfire and kept close to Blaine, hoping that the approaching army might change direction or simply pass them by.

With each moment that passed, the Orcs came closer and closer, and the chances of the army passing them by seemed unlikely. Kurt roused Blaine with hushed explanations and sincere apologies, and helped him gather his gear. Blaine’s eyes grew wide when they saw the glowing blue blades of the swords, but Kurt shoved them back in their scabbards. He hung Blaine’s over his shoulder, adjusting the leather straps properly to keep the blade from bouncing against his legs the way it already had for their entire trip. They made all haste, with Kurt pulling the sleepy Dwarf behind him before Blaine was even fully awake. They traveled along the recess of the overhanging rock ledge, their bodies pressed flat against the stone. Kurt wanted to find a way back to the Forest of Lothlorien, but with the Orcs flooding into the meadow, blocking their only path, they couldn’t even make the reckless move to turn and flee for the relative safety of Fangorn.

The slight wood in the Field of Celebrant was their only escape, and with any luck they could make their way to a point on the riverbank past the oncoming mob and slip away unseen. As they retreated, Kurt heard the Orcs gathering – fighting amongst themselves, arguing over scraps of food, complaining about this and that. Several brawls had begun to break out, and the sludge of black Orc blood was already being spilled, tainting the ground, killing the grass where it touched. The rank stench of it offended Kurt’s senses, and he had to hold his breath. For all of their bickering and squabbling, Kurt wasn’t sure exactly why they were suddenly there. Orcs were always a danger once you left the borders of the Elf-lands – that much Kurt knew. But this was different. This army of Orcs was vast in number, and they moved with a purpose, which Orcs rarely did.

Lord Elrond’s words echoed in Kurt’s head as he led Blaine away from the disquieting swarm.

“Take heed, Kurt,” he’d said, “for a great Evil grows past our lands. I fear a mighty spirit of doom is collecting beyond our borders. Whatever you do, do not fall victim to it.”

And Kurt had tried, but here they were, with Evil converging around them on all sides.

They had not gone looking for danger, but danger had definitely found them.

Kurt knew from the pieces of conversation that he could hear clearly enough to understand that this dark army was not aware of their presence. That was a point in their favor. Kurt and Blaine were not a part of the Orcs’ plan, but Orcs weren’t particular beasts.

They would attack whatever had the misfortune of stumbling in their midst.

“We must keep to the trees,” Kurt whispered to Blaine once they reached the border of the Forest. “They are our only chance. We must move swiftly and make it to the other end in case the Orcs decide to enter the wood.”

Blaine nodded, too focused on Kurt’s instructions to speak.

“Then we go…now!”

Kurt shot off like an arrow but Blaine could not keep up, and many times Kurt found himself doubling back to retrieve the Dwarf and retrace his own steps. From here, the bank of the river rose, and then what was once flat, sandy land suddenly became a rocky cliff. Kurt cursed, but he continued, keeping the cliff to their left, hearing the roar of the river dropping miles below. He abandoned his original plan and steered for a clearing up ahead. Even with Blaine drawing up the rear and threatening to slow them down, there was a renewed vigor in Kurt’s step, and hope in his heart. The more they ran, more of the clearing he could see. He stared out through the break in the canopy to the cool, cloudless evening sky. His eyes panned down and scanned the land stretched out ahead – a swath of grassy plain leading out toward the river…and not an Orc in sight.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

They were going to make it.

Kurt heard the moment when the Orcs entered the wood, but it didn’t matter. They had gained a considerable lead and would be out of the wood and heading down river above the final phalanx. They would disappear and become one with the night.

The sound of horses’ hooves pounding the ground filled the air, and suddenly their way was blocked by a regiment of Men on white horses.

The Rohirrim.

“What?” Kurt exclaimed, watching as the horses filled the space that was their only exit. “No! Not now!”

Kurt grabbed Blaine’s arm and yanked him quickly into the shelter of a twisted, overhanging tree, and let the horsemen pass. Kurt kept one eye on the Men as they rode by and wondered for a moment if his brother rode with them, but the onslaught of white horses and riders seemed to divert the Orcs straight to them. The creatures burst out of hiding, eager to start a fight.

“We have to stay out of the battle,” Kurt said, searching frantically for a way out. They couldn’t make their way back through the wood, and going forward was no longer an option, as that seemed to lead to the thick of the battle. Their only hope now was to make it to the river, to an area where the cliff was not too far from the water. Then they could perhaps take their chances and jump.

Kurt only hoped that Dwarves could float.

“Okay, new plan,” Kurt said, his voice hushed and urgent, “we’re going to make a break for the river.”

Blaine looked around the far side of the tree and his face went white.

“Uh, Kurt? There are an awful lot of Orcs between us and the river.”

Kurt heard the twinge of fear in Blaine’s voice, and his heart hardened against it. He had to be emotionless. He had to be strong for both of them if they were ever going to make it out of this alive.

“I know,” Kurt said. “But it’s our only chance.”

Blaine nodded.

“Pick a direction, Master Elf,” he said, trying to sound brave, “and I’ll follow you, wherever you lead.”

Kurt closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This Dwarf trusted him to keep them safe.

 _Blaine_ trusted him to keep them safe.

Hopefully, Kurt could manage that.

“On the count of three we make a break for the cliff,” Kurt explained. “Dodge and evade. Don’t get caught up in an attack. Maybe we can use the cover of the battle to keep from being ambushed.”

“That’s…that’s a good plan,” Blaine muttered. “Yes…that should work.”

Kurt let Blaine continue to convince himself for a moment longer, and then he began his count.

“One…”

A white rider flew by with an arrow lodged fletching deep in his chest.

“Two…”

An Orc, beheaded by a Man-made sword, stumbled blindly, and then fell to the ground.

“THREE!”

Kurt grabbed Blaine’s hand and they broke free from their hiding place behind the tree. They ran headlong into a grouping of Orcs tussling with two armed Men, but Kurt was prepared for them. He stopped short and spun around, propelling Blaine past them. He followed behind, pushing the Dwarf by his shoulders. An Orc confronted them, but Kurt’s sword was ready to free the monster’s head from its neck. Blaine turned his face away as the spray of black blood hit his leather vest. Kurt ran past him again, pulling the Dwarf along behind him.

Dodge, evade…dodge, evade - the bobbing dance continued as Kurt slingshot Blaine through the harrowing battle. The Orcs and the Men didn’t expect the appearance of an Elf and a Dwarf, so for the most part Kurt and Blaine made their way through the battle mostly ignored.

Kurt kept his eyes fixed on their exit as he maneuvered Blaine through the crowd. Only a handful of times did Kurt need to employ his sword – just seeing the glowing blade was enough for many Orcs to simply clear a path for them - and for the most part Blaine’s axes remained clean.

Unbeknownst to Kurt, an Evil eye caught sight of them two barreling through the battle unscathed. A silent alarm rose up. A foul voice penetrated the air. Kurt heard it when the Orcs did, and without any more warning than that, Orcs from the trees nearby abandoned their fight with the horse lords and advanced on the Elf and the Dwarf.

Kurt pushed Blaine behind him, spinning him around.

“Keep your back to mine,” Kurt commanded, “and head for the break in the two large trees.”

“Where?” Blaine called over his shoulder. “Which two trees?” Blaine’s voice shook. Kurt cursed beneath his breath, realizing that even though they were close to the arms of freedom, from here, the break Kurt was aiming for was beyond the reach of Blaine’s eyes.

“Just…just go!” Kurt roared, pushing Blaine to get him started, “and head straight, whatever you do!”

Kurt heard Blaine’s axes slice through the air, heard the screams as they connected with Orc flesh and severed limbs from bodies. He kept his mind locked to his own task, pushing Blaine forward and defending him from the rear.

“I can see it!” he heard Blaine yell over the clash of metal and the pitiful whining of dying Orc. “I can see the opening!” Instantaneously, Kurt stumbled backward, and he wondered if Blaine shot away toward their egress and left him behind.

Kurt spun on his companion and saw the Dwarf pulled away, now facing a slew of Orcs alone, swinging his axes indiscriminately at the thicket of black limbs pawing at him. Kurt rushed to get to him, but more Orcs came from out of nowhere to block his way. He swung his sword left and right, fending off more Orcs than Blaine but still not fairing much better. The horsemen seemed to have disappeared - retreated or defeated, Kurt didn’t know for sure. He didn’t hear a call or the blow of a horn. The riders simply seemed to evaporate into the shadows of the trees.

Kurt swung and swung his glowing sword, not even beginning to tire, but the farther he was pushed from Blaine, the more panicked he felt. He knew at once that the Orcs were deliberately trying to separate them. He found a fury within him he had never before felt. It wasn’t a need to save his own life. It was a need to keep his promise to Lord Elrond…and to Blaine.

He would fight through this horde and rescue Blaine. He had to keep Blaine safe, no matter what the cost. He needed to protect this Dwarf, who had gotten under his skin with his shining honey-gold eyes and his warm, caring smiles.

Kurt had to get Blaine home to his Mountain.

***

Blaine watched Kurt through the curtain of fighting and he couldn’t help his confusion. He didn’t know much about Elves admittedly, but he had heard stories that Elves were almost at one with their bow, as if it was a natural extension of their arm. Kurt and his bow should have been one like Blaine with his axes, but Kurt rallied on with his sword, and as good a swordsman as he was, exceptional even, it did nothing to stem the tide of the reigning death rising through the Forest to meet them.

“You can’t take them all with just your sword, Kurt,” Blaine called out to him, swinging his axe and swiftly beheading another Orc. “Draw your bow!”

Kurt locked eyes with Blaine, reaching a hand behind him as if he was considering it, swinging again with his sword and gutting an attacker. He had gotten so far as to put a hand on the limb, but then faltered, retreating again to the use of his sword. Blaine shook his head in frustration.

“Well, can you not stab them with your arrows then?” he yelled, trying to find any way possible to turn the tide, but two fighting against what looked like a thousand seemed impossible odds. Blaine was astounded that they had been able to last this long.

Kurt took Blaine’s advice, pulling the arrows from his quiver and gouging at Orcs left and right while his sword arm blurred about his head at lightning speed, dispatching the rest. Blaine beamed as he watched Kurt, blindly swinging his axe after aiming for a particular Orc among the flood of foul faces ceased to make any difference. Blaine realized this was probably not the best time to admire the cunning of his friend (a term he didn’t feel wrong in using since ‘friends’ is what they seemed to be fast becoming) but it couldn’t be helped. Kurt fighting the Orcs was a sight to behold. He seemed to glow from within with an ethereal light. He was lithe and powerful - a reflection of the great Elf legends that even he, a Blue Mountain Dwarf, had heard others of his kind revere, from battles long past, when Elves and Dwarves were allied.

So focused was Kurt on his task at hand, that he took no notice of a much larger Orc using the battle as a distraction to aim a black arrow straight at the Elf’s heart.

“No!” Blaine screamed, his mouth going dry with alarm. “No! Kurt! Look out!”

Kurt seemed not to hear him from this distance, with the clamor of the battle all around him, or maybe he had not the ability to heed Blaine’s warning with the Orcs bearing down upon him. Blaine’s axes spun out wildly, striking leg and torso and arm alike until he could sprint away from the melee and make his way to Kurt. He heard the twang of the bow string as the arrow was loosed from its bow, and Blaine cursed and prayed together that he could make it to Kurt in time.

Out of the throng of Orc scum Blaine flew, leaping quickly through the air with an ability he never dreamed he possessed. He tackled Kurt in an effort to push him out of the way, but the archer’s aim was true and the arrow hit its mark…or a mark close enough. Instead of piercing Kurt’s heart, it lodged itself happily into the next best thing – Blaine’s right shoulder, almost shattering the bone. Blaine bellowed in agony and Kurt, nose to nose with the injured Dwarf, saw clearly the twist of pain distorting his features. Toppled backward on the ground, Kurt saw past Blaine’s shoulder to the long arrow plunged deep, the wound weeping with thick, black poison. From the direction of the arrow’s owner, Kurt heard an eerie wail of satisfied laughter.

“Foul luck, my Elf friend!” the Evil Orc cried. “Once that poison reaches your friend’s heart, he won’t be long for this world, or any other for that matter!”

Kurt watched Blaine’s eyes sink in, his face going frighteningly pale. He sheathed his sword and wrapped his arm around him, scrabbling with his free hand through the trees that turned up the embankment, pushing his heels in the earth to propel them along. Orcs howled with laughter when they saw him, others regrouped and rushed after them, but the horsemen returned and the Elf slipped beneath them, a bit quicker than his distracted Orc pursuers. Crawling between the clamoring hooves of horses, he broke through the trees, finding the cliff closer than he originally estimated. With not a thought of what might happen after they hit the water, Kurt hurled himself and Blaine off the edge of the cliff, plummeting to the dark water below.

“Watch him go!” Laughter echoed after him. “The Elf and the Dwarf have taken a little tumble off the cliff!”

“They’re goners now,” another voice chortled.

Orcs continued to jeer even as the battle began anew, and the clashing of swords replaced the choking guffaws.

Kurt pushed the voices and their grim taunts out of his mind as he and Blaine fell. Kurt shifted positions in the air so that he and his pack would hit the water first and absorb the majority of the impact, praying that whatever bones he broke in the process would not be ones that were all too necessary to save their lives.

 _Oh, Blaine,_ Kurt cried in his mind. _I failed, you._ _Please, forgive me._

 

 


	5. Fighting the River

_“Father! Father!” Kurt called, raising his small sword high into the air in triumph. “Come here, Father, and see what Finn taught me!”_

_The older Elf turned from the_ _path to their house and regarded his two young sons with amusement – both carrying short practice swords, both dressed in worn leather armor he had fashioned for them, both red-faced from sparring the long afternoon away in the bright summer sun._

_“Of course, Kurt,” his father said with a warm smile, bounding quickly down the side of the hill toward the grinning pair. “Show me what you have learned.”_

_Kurt turned on his older brother, brandishing his sword. Kurt lunged, and Finn blocked. Kurt lunged again, and Finn blocked again. Kurt lunged a third time, but this time he faked Finn out and disarmed the older boy._

_(His brother, of course, had more than seen the move coming, having practiced it all afternoon, but he still nobly accepted defeat and applauded his younger brother’s cunning.)_

_“Very well done,” their father said with a wink to his eldest._

_“You should have seen it the first time,” Finn said. “He came up with that disarm all on his own.”_

_“Did he now? That’s wonderful!” their father praised, smiling with pride. “What a clever boy.” Kurt ducked his head and smiled, and his father took that as an invitation to tousle his chestnut-colored hair. “Have you let him try your bow?” he asked Finn._

_“Not yet, Father,” Finn said._

_“Why ever not?”_

_“He wanted you to teach him.”_

_“Ahhh,” their father murmured. “Quite so. Hand it to him, son, and we’ll have Kurt give it a go.”_

_Finn put down his sword and quickly produced his bow and quiver. He handed them both over to his brother in exchange for the other practice sword. Kurt took the bow and quiver gleefully, shouldering the quiver and holding the bow up the way he’d seen his brother practice over and over so many times._

_“Perfect,” his father crowed. “A perfect stance. Just like your brother.”_

_Kurt’s smile lit up his tiny face, and his father beamed at him._

_“Now position the arrow on the string, and aim for the target.” His father sounded even more excited than Kurt to see the boy shoot his first arrow. Kurt focused hard on the target, looking past the arrow’s tip and narrowing his eyes, but immediately he knew that something wasn’t quite right. The bullseye became blurry, and its position shifted from side to side. Kurt blinked hard, but try as he might, he couldn’t clear his vision. He couldn’t get the target to stay still. He did his best to line up the arrow with the target, and then he let the arrow fly…but it overshot its mark and landed off into the bushes._

_“Never mind that, never mind that,” his father said, handing Kurt a second arrow. “Your first shot’s always a scratch. Try another. This time you’ll get it for sure.”_

_His father winked at him, but Kurt could tell he was tense. He could hear it in his father’s voice and see it in his eyes as his loving, proud look changed swiftly into an unsettling half-glare._

_Kurt held his breath this time as he drew back his arrow, squaring the target in his sights and locking it into place in his mind. This way it didn’t matter if it moved. He would just shoot in the direction he knew for sure it had been. Before he could draw the arrow back, his eyes began to burn. He fought to ignore it until they watered. Then he had to lower the bow and arrow and wipe his eyes._

_“Wh…what’s wrong?” his father asked, a strange tremor of anger overshadowing the tone of worry in his words._

_“Nothing,” Kurt said, rubbing his itchy eyes. “It’s just…my eyes…the target is blurry…it’s hard to focus”_

_Their father suddenly became furious, grabbing the bow out of Kurt’s hands and shoving it back at Finn._

_“I knew it,” he spat with such tremendous rage at his younger son that Kurt was sure his father would strike him if not for his stepmother’s timely intervention._

_“Lunch time,” she sang, stepping out of their house and onto the path with a large basket hanging from her arm. She stopped at the sight of her husband and two sons standing in front of their makeshift archery target, all three burdened with distinctly different souring faces._

_Kurt’s father stormed away towards his wife, but her smile never faltered._

_“He’s got his mother’s eyes,” his father muttered roughly with a barely contained, simmering anger._

_“I know,” his stepmother said delightedly, “they’re so beautiful and blue, like the summer sky…”_

_“No,” his father cut her off sharply, “I mean he has his mother’s eyes.”_

_He punctuated the final few words, made them sound venomous. The smile on his stepmother’s face dropped completely. Kurt didn’t understand, but his stepmother knew. His father stomped away, slamming the door behind him._

_Kurt looked up at Finn with watery eyes, eyes that would forever remember the look of disappointment on his father’s face._

_Finn looked at his mother, and then back at Kurt._

_“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Finn said, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder and smiling. “Just be who you are. That’s all you need to do.”_

_“But, I don’t understand,” Kurt said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “What did I do to make him so angry?”_

_Finn shrugged._

_“I don’t know, but I’m sure he won’t stay angry for long.” Finn wrapped his arms around his brother and held him tight. “I’ll tell you what – let’s have lunch and then we’ll try again. I’ll teach you.”_

_“Shouldn’t…shouldn’t I go and talk to my father?” Kurt asked, scared that Finn would say yes._

_“No,” Finn said. “Not right now. Best not to fight the river today.”_

***

Barreling down the current, spiraling out of control, Kurt took his brother’s advice and didn’t fight the river. Even when the rapids became treacherous and threatened to drown them, he remained calm and trusted the water to carry them along, keeping Blaine afloat with his head always above the surface. Before too long, the rapids died down, and Elf and Dwarf could float side by side, saving Kurt’s overburdened arms, his muscles shaking from the strain of keeping Blaine above water. Kurt sucked in all the air he could into his deprived lungs, assessing the state of his body as he buoyed with the flow of the rushing water.

The river deposited them on the far side, miles away from the Orcs and the horsemen, out of reach of the fighting and the reckless death. Kurt pulled himself and Blaine out of the water, not wanting to be dragged in again. He could barely stand, and in the end had to kneel as he dragged his companion up further onto the bank. There Kurt lay on his back, gazing up at the sky for a few precious, stolen seconds before he knew he would have to move once again. He moved his whole body one limb at a time – arms, then legs, wiggling frozen and stiff fingers and toes, turning his head on his neck, checking for breaks. Content that no serious damage had been done when his body hit the water, Kurt crawled over to check on Blaine.

Blaine lay in the sand, not entirely conscious but with his eyes wide open, cold and gasping for breath. His eyes stared blankly, the honey-gold color now a ghostly, milky white. Kurt looked into them and froze solid, down to the depths of his soul.

Blaine was dying.

“No,” Kurt whispered, hoping that his eyes had been tricked by some spell, that the same foul voice that called the Orcs to attack had placed some horrible enchantment on him. He prayed that he was still asleep under the rock overhang with Blaine by his side, and that he would awake beside the fire of their campsite, beneath the fading starlight, with the rays of the morning sun cresting the hillside.

Then this would all be a dream, and he could start the new day with his friend by his side.

But Kurt knew that was not the truth.

The truth lay before him, shivering with cold, the light in his eyes dwindling.

Kurt’s legs still weren’t entirely strong enough to carry him, but that didn’t matter since now he needed to run, to gather the Dwarf in his arms and find shelter – and a way to save Blaine’s life.

Kurt registered in part that they had ended up somewhere near the Forest of Mirkwood, but he knew he would find no fellowship there, especially not with a sick Dwarf in his care. He ran with Blaine in his arms, the Dwarf still clutching madly to his axes, the bulky weapons crossed over his chest, his teeth chattering loudly and sounding as if they would rattle loose and fall from his mouth. Kurt covered more land than he intended in his search for a safe place to rest, but eventually he had to settle for a small raised hillside with the remains of a covered ledge upon it. It offered little in the way of protection, which would not matter much if Blaine did not survive the night.

Kurt settled himself down with the Dwarf in his arms. He threw off his pack and weapons, and began to undress Blaine. The arrow had broken off in the fall and whatever remained of its head had vanished, either in the rushing river or dissolved by the poison. The wound went deep – deeper than Kurt had originally thought, and doubt began to creep in like a shadow in Kurt’s mind.

This was beyond his abilities to heal. There was no way he could save Blaine alone.

Regardless, Kurt had to.

He tried to think - what would Lord Elrond have him do?

Kurt needed Athelas. Luckily, he had some with him - a habit his father always thought foolish since Athelas, or ‘Kingsfoil’ in the common tongue, was a weed, and grew practically everywhere. Kurt was grateful for his own foolishness since he didn’t want to leave Blaine while the light in his eyes continued to diminish and his skin became more and more sickly grey. He rummaged through his pack and found the plant, dried and withering as his own hope began to wither, but he prayed it would still do the trick. He crushed it in his hands and applied it to the wound. Blaine groaned with pain as the Athelas burned his tainted blood. Kurt’s voice failed him more than once as he chanted the Elvish words that would save Blaine’s life…but nothing Kurt could do would save his arm. The wound was too deep and the poison too powerful. He would still have use of the limb, but he would bear the wound the rest of his life, and his skill with an axe would be greatly decreased.

Kurt didn’t know if the Valar would grant him his wish and heal Blaine. Kurt realized despairingly that he was an Elf plagued by petty vanity, and the Valar might not want to reward that. He could appeal to Aulë, the Smith, Lord of the Earth and all that lies underneath, the one the Dwarves call Mahal, their creator. Every day Kurt began to realize that he and Blaine were not so different as Kurt had once believed. He would make it up to the Dwarf, if only he would live.

Kurt cradled Blaine to his chest and rocked him gently. He chanted and prayed until the sound of his own voice rang in his ears, even when he did not speak out loud. Did Lord Elrond not say that all the blessings of the Elves traveled with him? Where were those blessings now when he needed them? Why could he not use them to heal Blaine?

“Do not go, Blaine,” Kurt whimpered, mewling like a frightened child. “Do not leave me. Do not surrender to the dark.” Kurt sniffled as he pleaded. “Please, do not go where I cannot follow.”

Kurt felt Blaine shake his head slowly, blank eyes staring blindly – staring at Kurt’s face but unseeing.

“I would…” Blaine said, the words stealing from him what Kurt feared would be his last breaths.

“Please, don’t speak,” Kurt implored, adding more Athelas to the wound, wincing when he heard Blaine hiss. “Save your breath, Blaine. You’ll need it. You need it to get well and strong again.”

Blaine continued to shake his head, trying his best to smile. Kurt’s heart sank into the void of his own anguish knowing that Blaine was trying to comfort him, here, in this hour of his need.

“I would follow you…” Blaine said, his voice rough and weak, “wherever you led.”

Kurt shook his head.

“Please, be still,” Kurt begged against the clammy skin of Blaine’s cheek. “Please…”

“Wherever you led,” Blaine repeated. “Wherever you led…”

In his desperation, Kurt leaned forward and pressed his lips against Blaine’s to silence him, to heal him, to lead him from where only a spire of eternal darkness awaited him. It was an anchor, a way of letting the Dwarf know that Kurt was still there, even if his hazel eyes were too obscured by the shadow of death for him to see clearly. Kurt pulled away when he could no longer feel the stuttering rise and fall of Blaine’s chest, afraid that he had breathed his last while Kurt was indulging, wallowing in his own pity, but the smile on Blaine’s face almost made Kurt laugh out loud.

By the light of the rising sun Kurt could see that Blaine’s expression looked less pained, his eyes less clouded.

“Blaine?” Kurt whispered, unsure of what had just happened.

“Could you…do that again?” the Dwarf asked sheepishly. Kurt didn’t hesitate, capturing the Dwarf’s lips with his own. This time, Kurt could feel Blaine’s lips move against his, like Blaine was whispering the same words over and over again, but Kurt couldn’t tell what they were. When Kurt pulled away a second time, Blaine’s skin had more color, his eyes looked much brighter, and his lips – Kurt was slightly embarrassed to notice – were flushed a healthier shade of pink instead of waxy grey. Blaine’s eyes went wide as they focused on the Elf hovering above him, the milky white bleeding away and their original radiance returning.

“I…I know your face,” Blaine whispered in awe, “and your smile…it shines brighter than a hundred rainbows.”

Kurt giggled at the Dwarf’s ridiculousness, giddy with joy at his return.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt sighed, resting his forehead against Blaine’s.

“Kiss me again?” the Dwarf pleaded, with that unique innocence that Kurt was certain no other Dwarf possessed. Kurt laughed, even as relieved tears began to fall.

“Blaine,” Kurt said firmly, “you need to rest now.”

Blaine opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again, and smiled a little stronger.

“I will rest, but I will not leave you,” Blaine promised, his eyes looking their last before fluttering shut.

“I know,” Kurt said, brushing wet curls from Blaine’s face. “I know that now. But you need rest, Blaine and worry not. I will keep you safe.”

Blaine nodded.

“Kurt…” he whispered.

“Blaine…” Kurt scolded gently, smiling at the Dwarf’s efforts to stay awake a bit longer.

“You…you didn’t fail me,” Blaine said, each word quieter than the last. “There’s nothing…to forgive.”

Kurt gasped, his heart stopping dead in his chest as Blaine recited the words Kurt had thought but hadn’t spoken before their bodies hit the water. He relented, giving the Dwarf one last kiss, feeling Blaine’s breath pass through his lips as he fell asleep in Kurt’s arms.


	6. Trading Secrets

Kurt stayed awake and watched over Blaine unceasingly, untiringly, as night lightened into day and then shifted back to night, and the stars glowed and faded five times in the sky. For the most part, Blaine’s sleep was calm and untroubled. He fussed and whimpered from time to time, tossing and turning, though his eyes stayed locked shut with sleep. When that happened, Kurt would sing lullabies in Elvish to soothe him – songs his stepmother sang to him when he was but a child.

Blaine could not eat, but Kurt helped him to drink. Kurt pressed a cloth soaked with water to Blaine’s lips, patiently dripping the liquid into the Dwarf’s mouth, and Blaine’s body reflexively drank. Kurt tended to Blaine’s wounds until the cold pallor of Evil that masked itself as death faded completely from his face and the blush of rose returned to his cheeks.

On the dawn of the sixth day, Blaine opened his eyes and looked up at Kurt. His eyes were clear, his skin unblemished and glowing beneath the light of a new sun, but his smile was all Kurt needed to see to know that Blaine would be okay.

And then Kurt remembered his arm – his arm with the arrow wound that would vex him the rest of his life. That arm would never work as well as it originally had, and Kurt suffered greatly with the knowledge that Blaine carried the wound because of him.

“Blaine,” Kurt began, his heart breaking in much the way his voice was breaking as he tried to speak, “there is something I must tell you about your arm…”

Blaine raised his hand, the hand of that very arm, and put shaking fingers to Kurt’s lips to silence him.

“You are quite incredible with a sword,” Blaine said. “I don’t think I have ever seen another who could wield one the way you do.”

Kurt swallowed hard. He knew what Blaine was doing. He was absolving him of his guilt. An arm is not worth a life. Rationally, Kurt knew this. It didn’t make the pain of Blaine’s injury any less in Kurt’s mind. Kurt had seen Blaine fight. He had seen the strength he used to swing his axes. Kurt had also seen the Elf sword smiths hard at work in their trade. It took muscle as well as precision to make a weapon.

Precision that Blaine would now lack.

But Kurt would not allow Blaine to believe that his sacrifice was for nothing, or that his gift of absolution was unappreciated.

Kurt swallowed his guilt, and smiled at Blaine’s compliment.

“Not to sound too proud,” he said, kissing Blaine’s fingertips before they retreated from his lips, “but I’m at my best with two.”

Blaine shook his head - groggy, ill, and drowsy with a sleep that he did not care to continue.

“I can only imagine that is an awesome sight,” Blaine said with awe, “truly. But…why did you not tell me before that you could not shoot?” He asked the question even though it seemed more like an accusation, and a bold one at that. “I thought all Elves were expert archers.”

Kurt sat back a little, his first reaction to recoil and nurse his injured pride, but his need to be close to Blaine overshadowed that, and he kept the Dwarf cradled against his chest.

“How do you know so much about the skills of Elves if you claim that you’ve never seen one till we met in Rivendell?” Kurt retorted, deftly turning the course of the conversation.

“And here comes the time when the truth is revealed, is it?” Blaine asked with a painful sounding throaty laugh. “Alright then, but if I tell you my tale, you must promise to tell me yours. Is that a deal struck?”

Kurt sighed and nodded.

“A deal struck,” Kurt said. “I promise, Blaine.”

Blaine sat up taller, not moving too far away from his Elf companion, as he felt it favorable to sit in Kurt’s arms than opposite him by the fire.

“Six Dwarves set out to the Mountain to retrieve the Heart of the Andurinin Clan. Five are my clan and one is my kin. Cooper is his name, and older than me by almost seven years.”

“Ah,” Kurt said with a grin. “An older brother. Again we find that we are more alike than I first thought.”

“Yes,” Blaine agreed, blushing slightly at the thought. “My brother will lead the clan one day, but he has never been what you might call a _normal Dwarf_.”

“So, it is a family trait then,” Kurt teased, and Blaine averted his eyes, laughing softly. “How mean you that he is unlike a _normal Dwarf_?”

“He likes to pretend and perform.” Blaine smirked, gazing into the firelight and recalling a memory of his brother wearing female clothes and singing in a put-on falsetto voice. “He was meant more for the stage than for the fires of the forge. Long I wondered if he would not one day up and leave us all behind for greater glories than those of riches in the mines, but in my heart I know he would not.”

“How do you know?” Kurt asked, genuinely curious.

Blaine gazed deeply into Kurt’s questioning eyes with a look of surprise.

“Because he loves his clan and his kin,” Blaine said as if the answer were obvious. “For all his folly, he embraces his responsibility as leader, and he knows there is no greater good than the care of his people. Our father taught him that.”

Blaine made it sound so simple, and he sounded so proud. Kurt thought for a moment about his own family. His father taught him nothing more than Kurt’s existence was a consequence - something that had happened without his say in the matter, a responsibility that he had to shoulder because he had no other choice. Kurt’s half-brother, Finn, he loved, but they were not like-minded in any way. Kurt had always longed for adventure. Every day he sat above the waterfalls that surrounded Rivendell, eyes on the horizon, searching for a way to be free, whereas his brother was content to stay at home – to take care of his mother, to learn the family trade, and to court another Elf whom he had long hoped to someday marry.

Kurt saw Blaine watching him, and he shut those thoughts away.

“Your father sounds like a great Dwarf,” Kurt said. “He raised you and your brother well.”

Blaine smiled - a weak, fluttering movement of his lips - and it concerned Kurt that he suddenly appeared so sad.

“The party of my clan and kin were set upon by Trolls once they reached the Mountain pass and they fled, running for the safety of the Mountain by an entrance that only moonlight can open. One who was not fast enough, Arthur his name is but we who’ve known him most his life call him Artie for short, was left behind when the Trolls bombarded the entrance and the weathered rock caved in on them. Artie managed to escape the rubble and went to the Forest of Mirkwood in search of aid.”

“But, why go to Mirkwood?” Kurt asked. “Those woods are treacherous - mind-altering, some say. And the Woodland Elves are less fond of Dwarves than most other creatures.”

Blaine frowned at Kurt’s comment, but continued on.

“The Dwarves of the Andurinin Clan have a special friendship with the Elves of Rivendell and Arthur was sure the Silvan Elves would honor it. He carried a special token with him that spoke of that alliance.”

“But they did not,” Kurt deduced, saddened on behalf of the poor, frightened Dwarf, who braved the forbidden Forests of Mirkwood simply to be turned away.

“No, they did not,” Blaine confirmed. “Since the nature of our alliance is one with Rivendell, the King of the Dark Wood sent Arthur away, but with him was sent a small entourage to see him safely to the borders of their kingdom.”

“Well, I suppose that’s more of a kindness than I would have expected,” Kurt grumbled.

“On their way, they were set upon by a pack of giant Spiders.” Kurt leaned in close, hanging on Blaine’s every word, and Blaine preened beneath the Elf’s attentive eyes. “Artie was captured and carried high into the canopy, where he was injected with Spider venom. The monstrous things were preparing him for supper, but the Silvan Elves fought them off. Artie watched the whole thing, he said. Even as he thought he was dying and his vision became hazy with the onset of death, he watched the Elves fight. A blur of bows, arrows, and swords they were.” Blaine sighed and his eyes unfocused, as if he could plainly see the battle for himself, as if the memory he was recounting was his own. “One Elf, a She-Elf - thin and lithe with long golden hair - moved like a cat, he said. She leapt through the trees from branch to branch. She even _growled_ once, he claimed.”

Kurt shook his head and laughed. What a wonderful story-teller this Arthur must be.

“It was the She-Elf that found him wrapped in the Spider’s silk and cut him free.” Blaine lifted himself closer to Kurt, as if to impart a secret. “Truth be told, I think he fell in love with her.” Kurt bit his lip, and Blaine’s guileless eyes changed to that knowing look that excited Kurt inexplicably. “Artie said he wished there was a way he could have captured the battle so that he could show others just how it happened without having to rely on his faulty memory.” Blaine shrugged. “I wish that, too, but he spins a good yarn.”

“So, Arthur is the Dwarf that was carried into Rivendell?”

“Yes.” Blaine nodded. He grunted with the strain of telling his story and settled back into the comfort of Kurt’s arms. “The Spider that bit him almost broke him in half with the effort. It injected its venom too close to his spine.” Blaine swallowed heavily and his eyes drifted to the fire. “His eyesight is failing, and he will never walk again.”

Kurt gasped. As if the injury to Blaine’s arm wasn’t tragic enough, Kurt couldn’t perceive what the life of a lame Dwarf would be like. Dwarves lived in the Mountains. Their work was arduous. Some of the paths that led to the mines were perilous. Would a Dwarf who could not walk be able to return to his home? And what about his eyesight? Kurt only hoped that Lord Elrond would be able to find a way to set him right. But it had taken so long for Artie to get to Rivendell, even with the speed of the Elves to help him, and Kurt knew there was only so much that Lord Elrond’s magic could do.

“So, you are traveling to rescue your clan and your kin, and to retrieve whatever treasure they have?” Kurt summarized.

Blaine’s eyes shifted left and right uneasily.

“You could say that.”

Kurt noticed the movement, and he knew that was not all there was to tell.

“But why you?” Kurt asked. “And for that matter, why me?”

“The only other door to the mines is kept closed by an ancient Elvish lock. The riddle around the border is written in Primitive Quendian, I am told…”

“The original speech of all Elves,” Kurt supplied.

“Yes, and the key…”

“Yes?” Kurt edged closer, drawn in by Blaine’s fantastical tale.

“The key is my blood, or specifically the blood of a member of my line.”

Kurt shuddered. He never did like these blood-bound locks.

“But, can’t your brother…”

Blaine shook his head before Kurt could finish.

“The lock cannot be opened from the inside, nor can the door be forced. They are trapped in the Mountain until we get there.”

Kurt did not know what to say. A wash of shame came over him.

“B-but…but why did you not tell me earlier?” Kurt asked. “If you had told me that this was your quest, if you had told me that we were after your clan and your kin, I would not have judged you so harshly.”

Blaine’s eyes turned away and Kurt knew. Blaine should not have needed this tale of woe for Kurt to treat him with the basic kindness he should grant to all living things. Blaine had been nothing but polite their entire journey - a politeness that Kurt realized he did not deserve. More than that, this Dwarf _liked_ him, and wanted so much for Kurt to like him back.

“Blaine,” Kurt said. “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry for treating you so cruelly.”

Blaine shrugged but said not a word. His smile, however, as always, spoke volumes.

“So, Kurt,” he said smugly. “It is your turn.”

Kurt sighed. He knew this was coming, and he had made a promise. Kurt was nothing if not an Elf of his word.

“You are right, Blaine,” Kurt said. “Elves come to bows quite naturally, but I have little skill with a bow…and that’s because of my mother.”

Blaine furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Did she not teach you?” he asked.

“No,” Kurt chuckled. “It’s not that. It’s that my mother belonged to the race of Men. So I am half-human, half-Elf. It’s rare. There are other half-Elves among us. Even Lord Elrond is half-Elf, but not half-human.”

“But not your brother?”

“No.” Kurt found it hard not to look into Blaine’s eyes as he spoke, even when the need to gather his thoughts begged him to look away. A few short days ago, he thought he may never look into Blaine’s honey-gold eyes again, and so now he would not take for granted any opportunity. “The Elf that bore my brother is my stepmother. She is the one who raised me. Before I was born, my stepmother became gravely ill. Lord Elrond tried everything he could to save her – all of his magic. None in Rivendell thought she would survive. My brother sat by her side, as young as he was, and refused to leave her, but my father already counted her among the dead. In his grief, my father found solace in a human woman. No one quite understands how or why, but right at the threshold of death’s door my stepmother became well again, and all was forgotten…until my mother had me. She would have raised me, too, but she passed away - some sickness of Men which there is no cure for.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said as Kurt paused to catch his breath, “I am so sorry. I did not know.”

“No, very few do,” Kurt said, bowing his head. “She knew she was dying and brought me to Rivendell. At my father’s doorstep she left me.” Kurt laughed once, humorlessly. “My father would have probably drowned me, but it was my stepmother who discovered me.” Kurt saw his sorrow reflected in the clear mirror of Blaine’s gaze. No pity, as Kurt had feared - only sorrow. Kurt wanted to smile, but he couldn’t. “My stepmother is an amazing and selfless Elf, and she raised me alongside Finn as her own. There was a point when my father had begun to love me, too. When he thought he might have two Elf sons of quality, but then…” The rest of the story – the moment of his father’s rejection – hung on his lips, stinging him over and over like an angry wasp. Kurt sighed. Regardless of the sting, he couldn’t bring himself to tell.

This one wound cut way too deeply. If he opened it for Blaine, it might bleed Kurt to death.

“Anyway, her sight was poor in a strange way,” Kurt continued, “another weakness of Men that Elf magic can do nothing against. It doesn’t affect my sight overall, but it mars my grasp of depth, and for some reason it makes shooting an arrow…difficult.”

Blaine pondered all that Kurt told him.

“Then why do you not have two swords instead of a sword and a bow?”

This time Kurt did manage to look away, if only to fight back the tears that threatened to fall.

“Because Elvish blades are sacred, and my father didn’t want to waste another sword on me, for all of my faults with a bow.”

Blaine raised a brow, but still not a single glimmer of pity could Kurt see in his hazel eyes. Blaine reached around blindly for his things, leaning away from Kurt reluctantly to find them. His hand connected with his pack, but he tossed it aside. Lying beneath it, he found the leather scabbard and he grabbed it. He pulled back his sheath and sword, handing them clumsily over to Kurt.

“I know you have yet to see me in action with this,” Blaine said, “but trust me when I say that I think it would be put to better use in your hands. It’s almost a perfect match to your own.”

Kurt had seen the blade, admired it in secret several times while Blaine slept. It was indeed almost a perfect twin to his own sword. He should have leapt at the opportunity to have an Elvish blade returned to Elf hands, but it didn’t feel right. Lord Elrond himself had given this blade to Blaine. It was one sacrifice by Blaine too many. Kurt could do nothing but refuse.

“I can’t,” Kurt whispered.

“Kurt,” Blaine said, fixing him with those pleading eyes that so easily melted Kurt’s resolve, “you saved my life. I am in your debt.”

Kurt startled.

“Saving your life is not a debt that needs repaying,” Kurt said, aggrieved. “It is a gift.”

 _One I would have given a hundred times over_ , he thought. _One that I intend to keep safe for as long as there is need for me to do so._

Blaine pressed the sword into Kurt’s hand, wrapping the Elf’s fingers around the hilt, and then rested his hand over Kurt’s.

“Then take this sword as a gift as well,” Blaine said with a smile creeping onto his lips, “in case you should ever need to gift me with my life again.”

 

 


	7. Keeping Promises

They spent several more days in the same secluded spot. When Blaine was fully awake and on the mend, Kurt felt confident leaving him alone for long spells, and took the opportunity to make their shelter safer, concealing it better from passersby above and below. Kurt heard no more foul voices on the air; he felt no more spectral eyes following their steps. The Elvish swords no longer glowed blue, but Kurt would pull his swords from their scabbards every once in a while and check, keeping one exposed during the night to alert them of any danger.

No Orc search party came after them, and Kurt’s Elf eyes and ears could tell that what was left of the enormous army had moved on beyond his reckoning. Kurt wondered where the mongrels were headed, where their final destination lay – what poor town or village would finally face their wrath.

He also wondered if the loathsome creatures had written them off as dead.

Kurt gathered as much of the edible flora as he could find, which Blaine appreciated, but it didn’t quite suit the Dwarf’s palate.

Blaine didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. Kurt could tell.

For Blaine’s sake, Kurt tried his hand at hunting. He didn’t consult Blaine beforehand, not wanting to get his friend’s hopes up in case he proved to be a phenomenal failure. His traps were sloppy, mangled things – dangerous, but not altogether lethal. He hurt himself more than he actually snared anything. The few rabbits he managed to capture he did so by hand, but even then he had to carry the poor, wriggling creatures back to Blaine to be dispatched.

Blaine smiled when he saw them, knowing what his friend had done for him. He relieved Kurt of the unappealing task of killing, skinning, and cooking the animals. Kurt fetched kindling for their fire and left Blaine to his work, since the cries of the rabbits tugged at his heart strings unpleasantly. By the time Kurt returned with his arms full of twigs and sticks, the meat was completely prepared and ready for the fire. Kurt admired Blaine’s skill, and rewarded the Dwarf with a small smile and a hand carding gently through his hair.

While the game roasted over the fire, Kurt and Blaine talked – mostly Kurt talked at first while Blaine regained his strength, and then Blaine added his share to the conversation.

Kurt felt that through these conversations - by sitting for tales of his family and his clan, by listening to Blaine sing the songs of the mines - he was truly beginning to know his unlikely little friend, so Kurt was amazed to discover that there was one more secret that Blaine was keeping, one more left untold, but he didn’t press his friend to reveal it.

They talked long into the night, with Kurt keeping watch, even after Blaine drifted off to sleep. Sometimes Blaine stayed up with him. Kurt would scold him and tell him that he needed his sleep.

Blaine always said that he had slept enough.

Blaine watched the swords as often as Kurt did, fascinated by his memory of the shimmering blue light that the swords gave off during the battle.

“So, is it an enchantment?” Blaine asked one night. “Do they only glow like that during battle?”

“Ahhh,” Kurt sighed, “my inquisitive Dwarf returns.”

Blaine blushed to his roots, but he didn’t turn away from his friend’s enchanting sky blue eyes.

“No and yes,” Kurt said. “The Elves who forged these swords imbued them with the power to indicate when Orcs or Goblins are near with the ability to glow from within. That is the blue light you saw.”

Blaine nodded, chewing on a handful of berries and, at Kurt’s request, a crumb or two of lembas bread.

“So, they are ancient swords then?” he asked. “Do they have names?”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “Mine was given to me by my brother. It is called _Deadheader_.”

“ _Deadheader_?” Blaine repeated, sitting up with interest. “Has it seen many battles?”

To that question, Kurt ducked his head, smiling through his memories before he answered.

“Not exactly,” he said. “In fact, until recently, I think it may have only seen one other.”

“Then how did the sword come by such a name?” Blaine asked, popping another berry in his mouth. Kurt watched Blaine as he devoured the fruit, strangely drawn to the occupation of his mouth.

“I-it was actually given the name by my stepmother,” Kurt continued with a slight stutter at the start when Blaine noticed the attention of his eyes and smiled. Kurt returned his gaze to the sword, pulling the blade from its scabbard and holding it aloft. The blade hummed lightly in his hands, as if knowing it was the topic of conversation. “When my brother was first given the sword, this amazing piece of Elvish craftsmanship, an heirloom of my kin to be cherished and honored…” Kurt’s eyes grazed along the sword as he spoke, and Blaine caught his breath to revel in the sound of awe in his tone. His tone dropped along with his eyes, looking back over at Blaine when he continued, “Finn used it to deadhead the roses.”

Blaine laughed suddenly, covering his mouth as he choked on a piece of improperly chewed fruit, his face turning an alarming shade of red, but his eyes shining.

Kurt found an infectious joy in Blaine’s laughter and joined him, returning the blade to its resting place and silencing its gentle hum.

“And the one I gave to you?” Blaine asked as soon as he could speak again.

Kurt lifted the second sword, scabbard and all, and held it reverently in his hands.

“It is called _Riverdancer_ ,” Kurt said, slowly removing the sheath to examine the blade properly. Blaine tilted his head and watched him.

“How do you know its name?”

“I remember this blade well,” Kurt said with his eyes glued to the metal. “There are many songs about it.” He wrapped his hand around the hilt of the sword, pulled it from its resting place, and held it high in the air. “It was forged, and then lost. It was carried away by the Great River and thought to be gone from the Elves forever.”

“So, how did it return?” Blaine asked. “Who found it?”

“It is said that this blade traveled all the way to the Undying Lands,” Kurt said, slicing the air, “and that it was rescued from the water by the Valar. It was passed around from one to the other and then sent back by the river until it washed up onto our shores once again.”

Blaine sat forward as Kurt spoke, listening intently but also longing to be nearer to him.

“How do you know, though?” Blaine asked. “How can you tell it has been where your legends say?”

Almost in response to the want in Blaine’s mind, Kurt stood from his seat to sit beside Blaine. He rested the sword against the Dwarf’s leg and pointed to the symbols etched along the smooth edge of the blade.

“These markings,” Kurt explained, indicating each one with his finger, “are symbols of the Valar, which had not been etched into the blade when the sword went missing.”

Blaine’s eyes followed Kurt’s fingers as they traced over the marks and symbols, his light touch against the metal sending a chill down Blaine’s spine. He trembled, and Kurt felt it, the ripple of movement down his arms and back.

Kurt misunderstood. Thinking Blaine had caught a chill, he set the blade aside, took off his jacket, and wrapped it around Blaine’s shoulders, holding him tight to keep him warm.

Blaine shivered again.

“That’s…that’s amazing,” Blaine said.

“Hmmm,” Kurt said, “I like to shut my eyes sometimes and imagine it, the sword dancing down the river, rolling with the waves, floating out into the world, unfettered and free.”

“Is that where you long to be?” Blaine asked, eyes looking upward to search Kurt’s face.

“I used to,” Kurt confessed. “Every day I’d dream of going on an adventure, exploring the wilds.”

Kurt sighed, the swell of his chest lifting Blaine’s head gently with it so that when it came back down to rest Blaine could hear the thrum of the Elf’s heartbeat against his ear.

“And now?”

“Now I think that maybe a life of adventure is a bit much for me,” Kurt laughed, glancing down and catching Blaine’s upturned eyes. “Look at all that we’ve done so far and we haven’t even retrieved your treasure.” Kurt laughed again, struggling to cease when he saw how it jostled the Dwarf, who was too stubborn to move. “By the time this is over, I think I will have had all the adventure I need to sustain me for the rest of my days…if I’m still alive when this is over, that is.”

Kurt meant it as a joke, but Blaine didn’t find it amusing.

“Please, don’t say that,” Blaine said quietly, so quietly that Kurt had no choice but to stop laughing and listen. Blaine’s eyes welled with his affection for Kurt, and Kurt could see his still weakened heart break.

“Blaine…” Kurt said as the start to an apology.

“I promised I would not leave you,” Blaine intervened. “Now you have to make the same promise to me.”

Kurt didn’t look away when he leaned down and kissed Blaine’s forehead, brushing his nose through the silky, dark curls that cascaded over the crown of Blaine’s head.

“I will endeavor never to leave you, Blaine,” Kurt said, feeling the Dwarf relax against him. “That is a promise.”

***

As soon as Blaine could put weight on his legs, he wanted to be off again on their quest. He felt better, and his health had vastly improved, but Blaine was still unsteady on his feet. He could not take a step without his knees buckling, and he could barely carry the weight of his pack on his shoulders, especially while he favored one. Kurt better understood why Blaine was so eager to make his way to his Mountain. It hadn’t simply been a matter of treasure. Several lives would pay dearly if Kurt didn’t get Blaine to his Mountain, and time, he realized, had become their greatest and most persistent enemy. But it would do no good for them to set out and have Blaine collapse from exhaustion. With a heavy heart, Kurt managed to convince Blaine to stay in their woebegone shelter for two more nights, until his legs held him upright at least.

On the final day of Blaine’s convalescence, it was the Dwarf who roused the Elf first with a sweet song and an equally sweet but chaste kiss.

Early morning mist still clung to dew speckled grass when Elf and Dwarf set out again.

Kurt watched Blaine hobble along, gripping onto his pack with white knuckled hands. It was much lighter without the blade strapped beneath it, but Blaine still labored under the weight of his axes and his gear, which he refused to let Kurt help him carry. Kurt was of a mind to just pick the Dwarf up – pack, weapons, and all – and carry him across the landscape, but he did not wish to bruise his friend’s ego.

Steadily on foot, they made their way beyond the borders of land where Elves held any influence, their focus captured by a singular goal – a Mountain whose presence was not recorded on any map - an ancient Dwarf stronghold bereft of a name that anyone could recall.

“Is that…is that my Mountain?” Blaine asked when his eyes first beheld it, the towering mass of grey climbing into the sky, appearing over the threshold all at once, like a manifestation of dark smoke that decided in the instance of its existence to become rock and stone.

“Yes, Blaine,” Kurt said with his own unrestrained gasp of awe. “There is your Mountain.” Kurt turned to Blaine, who looked upon it with a dropped jaw, an expression of bittersweet rapture on his ruddy face, and tears in his hazel eyes. “Are you ready to see it?”

He nodded, still staring, unwilling to look away from it.

“Aye,” Blaine said, holding his axes close, looking to them for a comfort that came from memories of family and home, even if it was a home he’d never seen before. “Aye. Let’s go.”

***

The road that led to the Mountain of Blaine’s clan was less an established trail and more a thicket of brambles and thorns that snagged their clothes, their hair, and their skin. Every inch of their bodies that could be nicked or pricked was scratched bloody. Blaine tried to combat the briers and clear a path, but he could only manage the one axe. His body shook with every swing, and because of the handicap of his injured arm his balance became hard to keep. Several times he fell forward into the thorns.

Unable to watch his Dwarf friend hurt himself any longer, Kurt grabbed the axes from his hands and attacked the twisted branches and their dagger-sharp thorns. He struggled silently when the skin on his palms tore beneath the wooden handles, or when his shoulders ached from swinging the axe more vigorously than necessary. The brambles only seemed to get denser and thicker the further they walked.

Kurt began to groan, and then to wail, his mind spiraling with torment and self-doubt.

Blaine’s strength – gone.

Blaine’s arm – done.

Blaine’s life – inexorably altered because of him.

Kurt knew that Blaine bore him no ill will. He knew that Blaine wanted Kurt to forget, and he thought that he had until this moment when the reality of Blaine’s wrecked body and its impact on his future hit Kurt square in the face.

“Kurt,” Blaine beckoned, keeping his distance from the flailing weapons, “Kurt, please. Slow down. You’re hurt.”

Kurt heard his voice but all he saw was their destination – the road up the Mountain that led Blaine back to the mine of his clan, the home of his people.

Kurt couldn’t give Blaine back his strength, or his arm, but he could give him this.

“No,” Kurt said, somewhere between a growl and a sob, “no, Blaine. I can see it. Up ahead. We can make it.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said, coming up behind the Elf and putting a comforting hand on his back, “we’re here.”

And they were, standing before the start of a road at the base of the Mountain, arbored by winding branches and overhanging vines so heavily intertwined that from where they stood they could not see a way through to the top. Kurt stood dumbfounded with the axes in his hands, his palms swollen, blisters which had formed already bleeding. Splintered wood littered his hair and his clothes, and carpeted the ground around him.

He felt a hand pull the axes from his grip and press a clean, dry cloth to his hands.

“It wasn’t your fault, Kurt,” Blaine said, turning Kurt’s palm up in his hands and wrapping it gently. “Nothing that happened was your fault.”

Kurt wanted to nod, to tell Blaine that he understood that, but he couldn’t make himself agree. Instead, he stood in silence and let Blaine wrap his hands.

“What do you know?” Blaine asked, focused on Kurt’s hands. “What do you know about my Mountain? Why it’s not on that map? Why this road…” Blaine’s eyes traveled to the impassable looking road ahead of them, “looks so unused and abandoned?”

Blaine tied off the last bandage and Kurt wrapped his fingers around Blaine’s hands.

“Long ago, I was told, that the Dwarves of this Mountain…” Kurt smiled at Blaine, “ _your_ kin…had good relations with the Woodland Elves. This road was built specially for the Elves’ particular use.”

“What do they call this road?” Blaine asked.

Kurt’s small smile turned sad, and for the life of him he didn’t want to say.

“Well, that’s the thing. It’s been so long since those friendships were honored, so long since it was used,” Kurt explained, looking up the length of the dangerous path, “that its name has passed from the languages of Elves and Dwarves, but the Elves call it…” Kurt stopped for a moment and swallowed, the words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue as they waited to be spoken, “A Long Forgotten Road.”

“That…that’s just a description,” Blaine said, looking from the road, to Kurt, and then back to the road again. “It’s not a name.”

“Exactly,” Kurt sighed. “It’s been so long since anyone has had need of this road, that its name stopped being necessary.”

Blaine held onto Kurt’s hands tighter than he intended, but Kurt adsorbed the sharp pain and made no mention of it.

“It takes a long time to forget a name, Kurt,” Blaine whispered, his chest suddenly tightening with grief and sorrow.

“Yes,” Kurt agreed. “A very long time.”

“Did my kin pass by way of this road?” Blaine asked. “Can your Elf eyes tell?”

“They did not,” Kurt said. “Lord Elrond informed me that they carved a path along the far side - an easier path.”

“Probably easier because it was already in use by the Trolls they set upon, I’d wager,” Blaine muttered.

“Possibly,” Kurt agreed, “but if not for the occupation of the Trolls, that road might very well have been destroyed by the landslide that trapped your brother and your clan inside.” Kurt walked with Blaine to the head of the trail. “Either way, it’s too far from our destination to chance taking it. Your door is at the end of this road.”

“It does not look safe,” Blaine said, his voice meek and small - much smaller than Kurt felt suited his brave Mountain Dwarf.

“No paths are safe,” Kurt replied solemnly. He turned to see Blaine peering through the menacing trees, reaching for his axe. Kurt stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. When Blaine’s eyes stared up at him, Kurt smiled. “But worry not, my friend. I will protect you.”

Blaine looked back at the road. He raised his foot to take a step forward, then stopped, letting the limb hover in the air.

“If I take this step,” he said, “it will be the first time I have ever been to the Mountain of my kin. It will be the first time I have ever been home.”

Kurt smiled softly at his Dwarf companion. “Then we should get started,” he said.

For the first time in the life of many of these ancient trees, they witnessed something so unfamiliar that none knew how to process it. The Dwarf Blaine slipped his hand inside the grasp of the Elf Kurt, and the two walked boldly into their Forest, hand-in-hand . This alone may be the only thing that kept them safe, as the general confusion among all creatures that lingered was such that none knew whether or not to risk separating the two, for whatever enchantment could bind a Dwarf and Elf in friendship must be powerful indeed.

They walked as long as they could keep their feet beneath them. Night and day meant nothing in these woods, since the tangled limbs that made up the Forest canopy completely obscured the light. They camped only once along the trail, and kept close together, joining their bedrolls and sleeping beneath them. Kurt held Blaine tight in his arms with his twin swords nearby, daring any dark creature that inhabited the woods to come out and try to claim him.

The presence of an Elf in their woods woke the trees, stirred them from their slumber. They saw the determined Elf guarding his Dwarf friend, and took pity on the two. So they bent their braches over them to keep them safe. Kurt heard the trees moving, heard the bark crack and the branches moan. Barren boughs, black as pitch, resembling ancient charred and skeletal bones, wove themselves together and concealed the companions from view. When the trees had bowered them safely inside, they settled their knotted limbs together and went back to sleep. Kurt smiled at the grace that had been bestowed upon them, and satisfied that they would be protected for the night, Kurt fell asleep.

 


	8. The Missing Mountain Dwarves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Elvish chant in this chapter I wrote myself and translated with the use of an online dictionary.

“Is there a reason why these trees chose to cluster so close together at the top of this Mountain?” Blaine complained. They crept along the trail at a snail’s pace, picking their way through the branches that closed in around them. Kurt smiled when he heard the trees groan with displeasure. Knowing that some of the more aware ones had been offended by the Dwarf’s grousing, Kurt sang a song to appease them and calm their tempers.

“I don’t believe they are doing this on purpose,” Kurt joked, stepping ahead of Blaine in an attempt to convince the trees to move their branches aside.

Some of the kinder evergreens were happy to oblige.

Some of the more sensitive spruces and pines were not.

“You can talk to the trees, can you not, Kurt?” Blaine pleaded, spitting out a needle that ended up in his mouth when a branch thrust itself into the trail from out of nowhere and smacked him in the face.

“If you insist on insulting them, I can do very little, Blaine, but apologize on your behalf and beg for their forgiveness,” Kurt scolded the Dwarf, but laughed when he turned back to his companion and saw him festooned with more needles than the trees.

“I supposed that would explain a few things,” Blaine said, picking the needles from his curls.

“Aye,” Kurt said with a chuckle. “It would. Now, I beg of you, hold your tongue and calm your ire so we may make it to the top some time before dark.”

“Yes,” Blaine agreed. “I will.” He turned to the tree closest. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Kurt laughed while he helped rid Blaine of his cloak of mulch as Blaine continued to apologize to the overhanging branches. Fairly cleared of his leaf-coat, they traveled on in silence, which Kurt considered hard for Blaine since he usually combatted nerves with incessant talking and singing.

Blaine fidgeted and shuffled behind Kurt while the Elf negotiated with the Forest. The Dwarf’s body vibrated so with excitement that Kurt could almost convince himself that the emotion was his own. The path was slow going, and Kurt yearned to get Blaine to his kin, to free the Dwarves in the Mountain, but when he saw the doorway embedded in the rock face not too far ahead, a sad realization took root in his brain.

Their quest would soon be over. With the rescue made, the journey home would commence.

And before he knew it, he and Blaine would be parted.

Kurt knew better than to try and fight the inevitable, and he knew that the lives of Dwarves depended on their haste.

That didn’t stop Kurt from trying to devise a plan to delay their mission a little longer.

Maybe not delay it now, but when they had finally reached the Dwarves inside the Mountain.

Packing up their goods and treasure could take days instead of hours…or weeks, even.

Perhaps Blaine would find himself too tired to continue right away.

Perhaps Kurt could pretend to have an injury.

Kurt went over several scenerios in his mind, everything from spraining an ankle to food poisoning. So involved was he in trying to conjure up a feasible way to stall their return that he didn’t notice when the trees gave way and the doorway to the mines of this solitary Mountain stood ahead of them, marking the end to this leg of their journey.

Blaine came up beside him and stopped, staring first with confusion, and then with wonder.

“Is that…the door?” Blaine asked, even though it was most evident.

“Yes,” Kurt said. “This is the door to the Mountain.”

It was an interesting door in that it was not a door, not in the conventional sense of the word. It didn’t hang on hinges, nor did it have a keyhole – though it most definitely had a lock and a key. Many a Mountain in Middle-earth was in possession of a secret door, and many of them looked the same as this.

And yet it was unlike any other door that Kurt or Blaine had ever seen.

It was sheer and it was stone. It differed from the rock around it in no other way, and if you didn’t know it was there, you would never find it, even with the road taking them right to its step. Most doors that opened with an Elvish riddle had it inscribed around the edge, but not this door. It was incredibly unremarkable. A visitor would need to know the riddle before they arrived, which meant that in order to enter this Mountain, one would need to be invited.

You would need to be escorted.

A Dwarf of the Mountain would need to know the Elvish riddle and be able to recite it perfectly, or an Elf and a Dwarf would have to arrive together.

This was probably why the other door had been built.

No friendship with the Elves meant there was no one left to unlock the door.

Blaine ran his hands over the smooth rock in search of a way inside.

“So, you know this is the door then?” he asked, concerned over the lack of any distinguishing marks or features.

“I do,” Kurt said, looking unsettled.

“And you know the riddle that will get us in?”

“Yes,” Kurt responded. “I do.”

Blaine abandoned his search for a keyhole and looked at Kurt with expectant eyes.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, wringing his hands together in delight.

It was his hands where Kurt’s eyes fell.

“I know the riddle, Blaine,” Kurt said, “but we need a drop of your blood.”

Blaine stopped wringing his hands.

“Oh,” he said with a blank expression. “I forgot about that for a moment.” His expression transformed back into one of joy as he continued his bouncing and his hand wringing. “That’s not a problem. I have plenty of blood to give.”

“Blaine,” Kurt said, his eyes dropping to the rocky ground beneath his feet. How different it was here on the Mountain, where everything was dirt and rock and unmoving, then back home in Rivendell where the land was soft and green and rolled beneath your feet. You moved with the land and to a point it moved with you. But here on this Mountain, there was no give and take, no compromise.

Kurt knew that the nature of the Mountain was part of Blaine’s nature, too. The Dwarf would do what needed to be done.

“I’m sure you will do it well,” Blaine encouraged, “so that it will hurt only a little.”

Kurt’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Blaine’s face.

“Me?” he cried. “You expect me to take it?”

“Well, yes,” Blaine said. “I can’t.”

No, Blaine couldn’t.

Because of Kurt, he couldn’t. Blaine’s hands shook far too much for him to focus on something small like pricking his finger.

Kurt sighed. He did not want to cause Blaine anymore hurt, but he could not refuse.

“Alright,” he grumbled, turning Blaine around and rummaging through his pack. “Dwarf can still skin a rabbit, but he can’t prick his own finger.”

“Kurt, there’s a difference between pricking your finger for a drop of blood and taking your finger off.”

Kurt continued to complain unintelligibly to hear Blaine laugh. He found the small knife Blaine used for skinning and pulled it out carefully. Blaine turned back around and looked at Kurt with the knife in his hand.

“So…let’s get this over with, shall we?” Blaine said. “Before the anticipation gets the better of me.”

Kurt nodded and turned back toward the door. He took a deep breath in. The riddle he was about to speak had not been uttered for many generations. Many of the trees around them knew it well. For many, it would be the first time they had heard it recited.

Either way, he hoped he would get it right.

_Lle ya mellonamin naa creoso sinome,_

_Lle ya tesssa amin cam aa’ esta sinome,_

_Ar’ amin ya ona oanlle mellon,_

_Amin n’omenta kela._

Kurt stopped and held his breath, and both Elf and Dwarf waited.

“That was beautiful,” Blaine said in a hushed, reverent whisper. “What did that mean?”

Kurt kept his eyes on the door lest he miss anything, any movement, any sign at all as to what he was supposed to do next.

“It translates as -

_He who is my friend may enter here,_

_He who holds my hand may stay,_

_And I who offer blood of friendship,_

_Never I may turn away_ …

Blood!”

Kurt held out his hand to Blaine, and Blaine, without a thought, extended a willing hand toward Kurt. Kurt took hold of a plump, obliging finger and pricked it quickly, watching a single drop of blood ooze from the wound. Kurt was never told exactly how to open the door other than the riddle, which he set to memory. But there was a hole in the middle that seemed a perfect recess in the otherwise featureless rock – a small divot that only Kurt’s keen Elf vision allowed him to see. He tugged Blaine toward the door and pressed his finger against it, letting the drop of blood fill the recess completely.

The ground beneath their feet shook. It seemed like the entirety of the Mountain trembled. Trees locked their boughs together and held on tight. Kurt pulled Blaine away from the rock and turned him away from the falling debris, shielding the Dwarf with his own body.

“It seems,” Blaine choked as the earth rumbled around them, “that you have brought down the Mountain. Are you sure you said it right?”

Kurt laughed into Blaine’s hair at the lighthearted teasing of the Dwarf in his arms.

“Maybe it’s your blood, Dwarf of the Mountain,” Kurt joked back. “What with your bizarre disposition, maybe the very stone is questioning whether you are truly a Dwarf at all.”

The thunderous roar of rock scraping against rock and the tremendous quaking of the Mountain died down, and all became still, as if nothing outrageous had even occurred. Blaine turned his head up to peer over his shoulder and gaze into the eyes of his Elf protector, smiling one of his subtly disarming smiles.

“Would a Rivendell Elf like to accompany me below ground and see just how much of a Dwarf I truly am?”

Kurt parted his lips to squeak out a response, wondering where his voice had suddenly run off to, when another voice took its place.

“Well, well, well, don’t we look cozy?” it jeered, hoarse from the aftermath of breathing dusty air for several long weeks. “Did you bring your Elf friend up here to dishonor your family name, Blaine, or are you actually here to rescue us poor, wretched sots?”

Kurt stood stock straight at the vulgar comment and stepped aside, giving Blaine a better view of this intruder who knew his name.

“Puck!” Blaine cried, running past Kurt to embrace the Dwarf who emerged from the Mountain. “Thank the heavens you’re okay!”

Kurt took a good, hard look at the Dwarf that Blaine called Puck. He had a peculiar sway to his step, but then he stumbled and Kurt knew that he was putting on a brave front for Blaine. His clothes were torn and filthy, his stare a tad vacant, but his smile was warm and genuine – toward Blaine, at least. He was definitely taller than Blaine, and he wore his hair oddly - shaved along the sides with a stripe of short, dark hair running from front to back - which befuddled Kurt since he thought Dwarves were ever fond of their thick hair and beards. Other than his unusual hair, he was not unpleasant to look at, though he wasn’t nearly so handsome as Blaine…or polite. Puck openly glared at Kurt while he awaited his chance to greet his friend. After everything he’d gone through to rescue these Dwarves, Kurt was appalled, and he glared back. Blaine had Kurt spoiled; for a moment, Kurt had forgotten the way it was told that Dwarves usually treated Elves.

“Okay is definitely a matter of opinion,” Puck said, throwing his arms around Blaine and hugging him, obviously happy to see him despite his complaining. “If okay for you means nearly starving to death while your insane brother recites maudlin poetry non-stop, then yes, it’s been a downright hoot-nanny in there.”

“Blaine!” another voice called out. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

“Sam!” Blaine hobbled through the rubble as best he could to receive another Dwarf coming out from the massive doorway. “Oh, Sam! I’ve missed you so!”

“I’ve missed you, too, buddy,” the Dwarf named Sam said, clapping Blaine on the back. Blaine would have none of that and threw himself enthusiastically into Sam’s arms.

Blaine’s extreme show of affection for Sam bothered Kurt. He dared admit to himself that he even felt jealous, but he did his best to push it aside.

Whatever Kurt may have thought…

Well, it didn’t matter so much now.

Maybe he would end up losing Blaine sooner than he bargained.

“Don’t kiss his ass, Sam,” Puck grumbled, jabbing a crooked thumb in Kurt’s direction, “look what he’s been up to while we were all rotting in that death-trap - the traitor.”

Sam turned to Kurt, and his eyes went wide. He looked the Elf up and down and smiled. Kurt threw all decorum to the wind and stared appraisingly back. If these Dwarves felt free to act like mannerless pigs, then Kurt could reciprocate. This Dwarf was the strangest of the group by far, not for his hair like Puck (Sam had no beard, but he did have a lustrous head of golden hair) but for his enormous mouth. Sam laughed when he noticed Kurt stare at him reproachfully, and Kurt feared for poor Blaine.

One kiss and this Dwarf might swallow Blaine whole.

Not that it mattered to Kurt.

“Don’t be like that, Puck,” Sam said. “You knew Artie went for help. Where did you think he was going to go? The Elves were the most logical choice. They’re the only ones who could open the door.” Sam smiled approvingly at Kurt, but he kept his arm locked around Blaine’s shoulders and Kurt found that he could no longer stand to look at them, even if Sam’s smiling blue eyes were the friendliest among the bunch of refugee Dwarves so far.

A third and fourth voice joined the reverie.

“Oh, he’s just upset because the mead and the Longbottom Leaf ran out days ago.”

“Yeah, even though _he_ was mostly to blame for its disappearance.”

“Mike! Dave!” Blaine cheered, and he was passed off to another set of arms.

“Of course I’m upset it ran out,” Puck said. “Do you know what it’s like putting up with these fools sober?”

“I find it hard to believe that my father would keep Longbottom Leaf in the mine,” Blaine commented.

“He didn’t,” Puck said. “It was my own personal stash, and I’m not really looking forward to traveling all the way to the Shire to get more.”

“The Shire?” Kurt questioned, with a raised eyebrow. Mike and Dave both looked at the Elf with very different miens.

Mike - an exceptionally fit-looking dark haired Dwarf in comparison to his compatriots - seemed grateful to see the Elf who helped save them, while Dave – a portly bear of a Dwarf – looked upon the Elf utterly besotted. His wide-eyed stare did not go unnoticed by the company, especially by Blaine, who immediately detached himself from Mike’s embrace and walked over to Kurt, taking his hand.

“Where the Hobbits live,” Blaine explained. He raised Kurt’s bandaged hand to his lips and kissed it – a move that Kurt definitely did not expect. He felt it out of character for Blaine, and he didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t question it.

It was nice to feel that he hadn’t been so easily forgotten.

“Tiny creatures,” Mike picked up where Blaine left off. “You might miss them if you blinked, which is saying a lot since they are quite slow.”

“And in the tall grass you could lose them entirely!” Sam crowed to the delight of all, who roared with laughter.

Even Puck chuckled, but not Dave, who hadn’t quite snapped out of his stupor.

“You mean there are creatures in the world smaller than you, Blaine?” Kurt jested.

The Dwarves went silent, and then roared even louder, whooping with laughter and calling out raunchy taunts, many in a language Kurt couldn’t understand.

“Yes, yes, I’m short. I get it,” Blaine admitted brightly, in evidence of his good-nature that he took none of their jokes seriously, “but now I think I’d better find my brother and make arrangements to get you out of here.”

“We’re leaving so soon, little brother? The five of us were just beginning to get used to it here.” Everyone turned in unison to face the Dwarf walking through the fallen rocks, picking up and tossing many of them aside instead of maneuvering around them. Even in his obliterated clothes, with his matted hair and his ashen skin, this Dwarf looked like Blaine, only older, and his eyes, instead of being honey-gold, were an astonishing shade of blue.

It could definitely be said that Blaine and his brother harbored beauty in spades.

Kurt was prepared to let go of Blaine’s hand so he could be welcomed by his brother, but he found himself pulled along to meet the older Andurinin heir.

“Blaine,” Cooper said, opening his arms for his brother. “I thought you would not make it to us in time.”

“I feared that as well.” Blaine buried his face into his brother’s shoulder. “I am so happy to see that you are all right.” Kurt heard the very real threat of tears in Blaine’s voice, muffled slightly by his brother’s torn vest.

“I am happy that you are, too,” Cooper whispered, running a hand soothingly through his brother’s curls. Brother and brother held each other, whispering sentiments that faded into one another’s ears without a need to be heard by all.

Cooper kissed his brother’s cheek and smiled, then opened his eyes and immediately saw Kurt.

“And is this the Elf I have to thank for delivering you safely to us?” Cooper said, his voice, his face, his whole demeanor changing as he pushed Blaine aside and approached Kurt.

“Yes,” Blaine said, rolling his eyes. “This is Kurt of Rivendell. Kurt, this is my brother, Cooper of the Andurinin Clan.”

Kurt extended his hand in a gesture of trust, and Cooper took it, bringing it up to his lips in much the same way Blaine did and kissing it. Kurt’s eyes looked over Cooper’s head to find Blaine, shaking his head and staring up at the sky.

Kurt definitely saw what Blaine meant about his brother being destined more for the stage.

Kurt had never met anyone quite so pretentious in his entire life.

Now that Kurt had been introduced to the entire party, he discovered again that he was wrong about the temperament of Dwarves, for not another of them looked at him as meanly as Puck, so among the Andurinin Clan it seemed to be Puck and not Blaine who was to aberration.

Cooper stared deeply into Kurt’s eyes until the silence dragged on too long and became uncomfortable for all around – so much so that the Dwarves turned and returned back to their Mountain, confident that Cooper and Blaine would soon follow without any prompting from them.

“Uh, Coop?” Blaine interceded, tapping his brother on the shoulder. Cooper didn’t acknowledge the interruption, smiling at Kurt with his hand still held captive. “Cooper?” Blaine tried again, and Kurt helped him along by pulling his hand from Cooper’s grasp.

“What is it, _Blaine_?” Cooper hissed, sounding highly annoyed.

“We have things we need to discuss,” Blaine said.

“Such as?” Cooper asked, turning on his brother. Blaine sighed, and Cooper saw something in Blaine’s eyes that brought him back to the present.

“Where is he?” Blaine asked.

 _He_? Kurt thought. He recounted the Dwarves in his head. Artie was back in Rivendell, and Cooper, Puck, Mike, Dave, and Sam were all here. That made six Dwarves – the entire party. Then there was Blaine.

So, who was _he_?

“He is in the throne room,” his brother said kindly, though there was no hiding the sadness in his blue eyes, or the tilt to his mouth which fought not to become a fully realized frown.

Blaine pulled himself up straight.

“I would like to go see him, please.”

 

 


	9. The King of the Missing Mountain

Cooper led Blaine and Kurt below ground. The entry to the Mountain sucked away all of the light, and Kurt stopped at the doorway. He peered into the Mountain, not too eager to be away from the light.

Daylight didn’t penetrate the Mountain, and in his soul it frightened him as much as entering a battle unarmed.

Or the thought of losing Blaine to that Orc’s arrow.

Blaine stopped walking when Kurt did, refusing to leave his side.

“Are you okay with this, Kurt?” he asked, holding out his hand for the Elf to take.

Now that it came to it, Kurt didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to venture where he couldn’t readily see the sky.

He saw Blaine’s face watching him, that smile on his lips that he seemed to reserve only for Kurt, his honey-gold eyes waiting for Kurt to follow.

He took Blaine’s hand in his.

He could be without the sky for a while.

“I will follow you, Blaine,” Kurt recited with a shy grin, “wherever you lead.”

Blaine bit his lip at the sound of Kurt recalling those words. Blaine led, and Kurt followed, and hand and hand they began the journey underground.

They followed Cooper down, down, into the belly of the earth - far beneath the tree-lined trail above their heads, or the massacred thicket of razor sharp thorns. They walked over elevated passageways of carved stone, high above canyons that seemed to drop endlessly into the very center of the earth.

In the quiet of the deep, where only ghosts and demons felt safe to roam, Cooper led them. They walked in silence; every creak of the stone beneath their feet, every crumbling cascade of pebbles over the side showering into the abyss, was like the whispers of dread to Kurt - horrible ghastly moans that rang only in his head and warned him that a mine was no place for an Elf.

Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand. Blaine squeezed back, and Kurt knew all was well – the danger he perceived existed only in his head.

The last maze of tunnels opened up into a massive hall, with vaulted ceilings and stone pillars, their intricate patterns and carefully carved bas-reliefs wasted in gloom. Beyond the grand hall Kurt could see an arched doorway illuminated from within, and he heard the sound of voices singing and laughing, with an occasional mention of his and Blaine’s name.

Blaine caught it, too, and looked at Kurt, giving him a shrug.

The Dwarves were sitting down to a meal when Cooper, Kurt, and Blaine walked into the large store room. The entourage cheered when they entered. Sam stood and offered Blaine a piece of salted pork. Dave had one that he tried to give to Kurt, but Kurt politely declined.

“The throne room is further down that corridor,” Cooper said, gesturing to a door at the far end of the store room that led back out into the inky darkness of the mine. “I’ll give you a moment alone.” Cooper joined the party seated in a lazy circle on the floor. He picked up a flagon and triple checked it for ale.

“Empty,” Puck muttered. “They’re all empty.”

Blaine looked away in the direction of the door, and then around the room, searching for something that might help him take those difficult steps to walk through it.

Kurt ran his thumb over Blaine’s knuckles, and Blaine realized that what he needed to lend him strength was standing beside him. He glanced down at their joined hands, and then up at the Elf’s friendly eyes and the comfort he found there.

“You will come with me?” Blaine asked.

“Are you sure?” Kurt asked, taken by surprise. He took his first glance at the door.

“Yes,” Blaine said. “I’m sure. I would like you to accompany me, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Kurt replied.

Kurt followed Blaine, leaving the Dwarves to their meal, but the group fell silent as they watched Blaine and his Elf leave.

“Are all mines like this?” Kurt asked when they were spit out into the dark again. “Dreary and quiet and full of old ghosts?”

“No,” Blaine laughed wistfully. “They’re not. The Blue Mountains’ mine is always lit, always busy. All day long, it never sleeps.”

“Ah,” Kurt said. He heard a distant screech, and the sound of stones untouched by him or Blaine tumbling over themselves as they bounced down the wall. Kurt peeked over his shoulder to the blades on his back to see if either of them were glowing blue.

He had already been attacked by Orcs. Kurt didn’t need to fight off Goblins as well.

“So…who are we going to go see?” Kurt asked, unable to hold the question in any longer.

“My father,” Blaine answered simply.

Kurt waited for a further answer, but there was none.

“And your father is the king?” Kurt asked, hoping he wasn’t overstepping his bounds by being so nosy.

“He should have been,” Blaine confessed without a hint of pride. “My father was a great leader.” Blaine slowed his pace as they walked to allow them time to speak. “He talked so often about this Mountain – huge caverns and halls overflowing with golden light, and not just from the forges below, but from hearths and fireplaces where Dwarves would gather to tell their tales and sing their songs. He told us they used to have great feasts here, celebrations that would last for days and days, till the meat was gone and the flagons dry.” Kurt looked around him, at the shadows upon shadows, trying to picture it the way Blaine described. “This was not just a mine. It was a safe haven. It was a place of joy and friendship, unique among the Seven Kingdoms of the Dwarves.” Blaine stopped walking to talk to Kurt face to face. “My father didn’t just mean to revive this Mountain for his brothers and his sons, but for all Dwarves. He longed to renew the friendships with the Elves and the old alliances with Men…” Blaine let his thoughts trail off as his eyes beheld the truth before him. The Mountain, still grand in stature, was worn down, dug out. The air felt old and tired. It would never again be a working mine, and without his father, it wouldn’t be the great safe haven he had hoped for.

The spirit of the Mountain was gone.

Blaine had his suspicions before they even came here, but he had to see it for himself to be sure.

“But alas, there will be no king,” Blaine said, turning away and continuing on. “We shall abandon the Mountain and return to live among the Blue Mountain Dwarves as we have for so many years.”

“Well, what will your father say about that?”

Kurt thought of his own father, sitting on a throne. Rightful or not, it would probably take all of Rivendell and the Woodland Elves combined just to budge him off of it. Even if he was the king of a sour and rotting dark land plagued by Orcs and Goblins, there would be no power on all of Middle-earth or the heavens above that could move him.

“My father would say that’s what’s best,” Blaine answered quietly, and not until that moment did Kurt realize that Blaine spoke about his father solely in the past tense.

They approached a door that glowed from within, not quite so brightly as the store room, but bright enough to see the silhouettes of objects inside. Kurt had only once been in Lord Elrond’s throne room, but he imagined a Dwarf throne room to be very different. Stories among the Elves told of rooms painted in gold, walls inlaid with rubies, sapphires, and diamonds plucked straight from the mines, and hordes full of treasure, set at the Dwarf Lord’s feet so he could pass the time staring at it, since it was widely regarded that Dwarf Lords did nothing other than tend their horde and weighed their gold, like stout, hairy dragons who breathed ale instead of fire.

The throne room probably housed the treasure Blaine sought.

The Heart of the Andurinin Clan.

Kurt had almost forgotten it, but apparently it had been on the forefront of Blaine’s mind still.

“Welcome, Kurt,” Blaine said mournfully as they passed over the threshold, “to the great throne room of my father, Enduin, Lord of the Andurinin Clan.”

What they entered wasn’t a trove of wall to wall riches, but a dusty, ramshackle hall that hadn’t seen life in generations. Blaine seemed to know where he was going, but Kurt took a moment to sweep his eyes over the dimly lit room.

“This is no throne room.” Kurt gasped. “This is a tomb.”

“Yes,” Blaine agreed, walking directly to the center of the room where a raised, stone platform had been constructed with a single purpose. On top lay the figure of a Dwarf – a corpse - the body preserved by the cold of the Mountain, but carefully prepared, wrapped in cloaks of fine wool and furs.

“Blaine,” Kurt began, all the clues suddenly connecting, “is this…”

“Yes,” Blaine said. “My father came to reclaim the Mountain for his people, but the Mountain claimed him instead.”

Blaine bowed his head over his father’s body, reaching out a hand to gently touch his.

“He’s the treasure, isn’t he, Blaine?” Kurt asked. “He’s what your brother and your kin came for. Your father. Your father is the Heart of the Andurinin Clan.”

“Yes,” Blaine said. “Yes, he is.”

“They came here to find him because they thought he was still alive,” Kurt deduced. “His trip to the Mountain is the one you don’t speak of because he never returned.”

“We’ve come to bring him back to the Blue Mountains,” Blaine explained, though it seemed to cause him immense pain to do so. “We’ve been given permission to lay his body to rest there.”

Kurt regarded the mummified corpse, so attentively laid to rest here on this pedestal.

“If…if this Mountain is your home, then why not just bury him here?”

“Because, here he’ll be alone,” Blaine said with a sniffle he hoped he could hide, but Kurt’s Elf ears caught it, “and I don’t want him to be alone.”

It wasn’t that, and Kurt knew. Blaine wasn’t bringing his father’s body back for the sake of his father, or his people. He was doing it for himself. He was a son, lost and grieving, who just wanted his father back home.

Kurt grieved in his heart for Blaine, but he grieved for himself, too, since he didn’t know what that kind of love for a father from his son felt like.

Maybe he had once, a long time ago, but he no longer remembered it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kurt asked.

Kurt felt the weight of Blaine’s regret surround them.

Blaine had proven to be an honest Dwarf. If he had lied, or left out the truth, he surely had a reason.

“You don’t seem to love your father,” Blaine said cautiously, choosing his words from the many conversations the two of them had had instead of from any speculation of his own. “I was afraid you might not help me if you knew.”

“Why would I not help you?” Kurt asked, hurt that Blaine would not trust him to finish what he had started.

“I was afraid that you might think it was…foolish. I would rather have had you hate me out of a belief of my greed than for you to leave me when you found out the truth.”

Kurt looked at Blaine and saw him with brand new eyes.

Blaine – the lost and lonely.

Blaine – grieving and treasured son.

Blaine – Dwarf Lord, heir of the Missing Mountain, standing strong and tall in the throne room of his father.

And that was the way Kurt chose to forever remember him, even if their paths never crossed again.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, taking a knee so that he could talk to Blaine eye to eye, “a great many things about you are foolish.” Blaine looked down at his feet and laughed. “But not this.” Blaine nodded, balling his free hand tighter as Kurt spoke. “And even if it was, Blaine, I wouldn’t have left you.” Blaine looked up slowly, at Kurt kneeling before him in the dim light of the cavern he had so long hoped to claim as his home. “I would never leave you.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Kurt,” Blaine said. “I’m sorry you risked your life to come all the way out here and retrieve the body of a dead Dwarf.”

Kurt chuckled nervously.

“You have not a thing to be sorry for,” Kurt said. “Not a single thing.”

The sound of footsteps echoed just outside the door; one set only and Kurt knew exactly which of the Dwarves they belonged to.

“Hey, little brother,” Cooper called within. “Are you alright?”

“Aye,” Blaine said. “I am.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie. It was more of an incomplete truth.

Cooper entered the throne room. Kurt watched him. He hesitated a step at the doorway before walking in. Kurt wondered if he did that every time he came in here. He wondered if Cooper did that the first time. The five Dwarves of the Andurinin Clan had been trapped within the Mountain with the dead body of their king.

Kurt didn’t want to imagine what that was like.

“Look,” Cooper started, his eyes settling on Kurt, kneeling at his brother’s feet, before turning towards Blaine, “I know we always said that we would rebuild the mine, that this is our home, but I’ve been thinking about this long and hard all this time we’ve been trapped here, Blaine, and I don’t see…”

Blaine put up a hand to silence his brother and shook his head.

“I know what you’re going to say, Cooper,” Blaine said. From the doorway, the remainder of the Dwarves entered in, patiently waiting to see what Blaine felt on the subject of rebuilding the ancient mine. “You believe that this mine is a lost cause, and that the Mountain is best left the way we found it…” Blaine looked at Kurt. “Forgotten, because there will come a time when we gathered here will be gone, and this Mountain and its mine will be nothing but a hive of Goblins and death.”

“Aye,” Cooper said, walking further in. “I think you do see. But this decision does not belong to me alone. In this matter, we must both agree. So, tell me, what is it that you wish to do, Blaine?” Cooper asked, looking to his younger brother for an answer. “Do we spend our lives here, or do we abandon the Mountain?”

Blaine looked from face to face around him - first to his clan, then to his brother, and finally Kurt.

“We did what we set out to do,” Blaine said. “We found the one among us who had gotten lost. Our mission here in the Mountain is done. Now, I want to take my father back to the Blue Mountains.”

Blaine looked at Kurt, but he didn’t smile.

“I would like to leave right away.”

 

 

 

 


	10. The Journey Home

After Blaine’s declaration – a sentiment shared by the clan as a whole - the Dwarves set to work preparing their king for the trip to the Blue Mountains. They constructed a makeshift stretcher from materials they found around the store room – long white table cloths made of finely woven fabric, permanently creased from ages of being folded on shelves instead of draped over tables in the great hall; and the frames from old chairs, long past their use and already falling to pieces. Those not employed in the construction of the stretcher were busy finding whatever they could that was suitable to eat on a long journey. They all shared the load, dividing the food into each of their packs, with the lion’s share of the supplies stowed into Dave’s pack, since he was capable of shouldering the heaviest burden.

On the search for food, Mike stumbled across three expertly hidden and unopened bottles of mead that would have otherwise gone overlooked if not for the need to turn the store room inside-out. The find was seen by all as providence, a sign of good fortune for their journey.

While the Dwarves worked, Kurt began to sing. Blaine stopped when he heard the angelic sound. Kurt had sung for him many times after his fall – to keep him calm in the throes of illness, or to help him go to sleep. But this song was different – melancholy and sweet, but full of yearning. It was a music that wove through the stale air like a fine silver thread. The words Kurt sang Blaine had no hope of comprehending, but the tune - the tune he could understand.

All who heard it stopped to admire its beauty - all except for Puck.

The embittered Dwarf became unexpectedly enraged by Kurt’s lilting song.

“What is that, Elf?” Puck roared, leaving his work and storming over to where Kurt paced the entrance to the store room. “Are you casting a spell? Do you mean to leave us trapped here to rot?”

Blaine rushed after him, not sure whose safety he worried for more – his hotheaded cousin, or the Elf with the ice blue eyes trained on him. Where Blaine had expected to see offense in Kurt’s eyes - and rightfully so - he saw only kindness, compassion, and forgiveness.

“Tis not a spell,” Kurt said, his lips curling a touch at the edges, “but a blessing.”

“A blessing?” Puck snapped, folding his arms over his chest, unimpressed by what he perceived as the Elf’s weak excuse.

“Yes,” Kurt said, “A blessing.”

“I don’t see, Elf, how you feel you can bless us,” Puck alleged, “for we here do not believe in your Elf gods.”

“It’s a song to _Aulë_ \- the creator you Dwarves call Mahal - asking him to find the great king’s spirit and exult him among the other great kings of your race.”

All of the Dwarves stopped and stared at the Elf in disbelief, as not a one of them had ever been spoken to with such honest respect by an Elf before. Kurt held his ground, and Puck backed slowly away, his mouth open wide, unsure of what to say in response.

“Well, then,” he said, making an uneasy motion with his hands since he knew not what else to do, “get on with it then. Sing. Bless us. Forgive me for interrupting.”

Kurt nodded and continued his song.

Blaine looked from Cooper to Sam – both perplexed beyond belief - and shook his head. Blaine had witnessed history being made. He stood in the presence of a true miracle – a tongue-tied Puck struck humble enough to offer up an apology, especially to an Elf.

***

Kurt expected the return trip to be as daunting as the first, but the journey back down the Mountain was in some ways easier, and in other ways harder. The trees no longer toyed with them, so the path that had taken so much perseverance to pick through was mostly clear.

But much that the Dwarves brought with them, they had either lost or left behind.

Kurt reflected on his own journey and didn’t know how to feel. Much of him was stripped bare, with pieces scattered all over the countryside. The dreams that he long thought he wanted to follow he found he had outgrown a while ago. He saw that now. It took him walking from nearly one end of Middle-earth all the way to the other in order to figure that out. He was a much different Elf than the one who had left Rivendell - the one who had cursed his life and his dreadful luck.

The Elf he was now longed to find a home to call his own.

Watching Blaine give up his Mountain drove that realization to the heart of him.

Then there was Blaine.

So much of what had changed Kurt was tied up in Blaine – in his patience, in his giving heart, and in his sweet disposition. Every time they stopped to rest, Blaine was by his side. On the rare times he wasn’t – when he was regaling his clan with tales of their adventures, of Artie’s terrible misfortune with the Spiders, or of Kurt’s dramatic escape from the Orcs with him in tow - Kurt shut his eyes but could not rid his mind of Blaine. His black curls, his hazel eyes, his soft lips pressed against Kurt’s skin all haunted him. Blaine had made his way into Kurt’s brain. He had wormed his way under Kurt’s skin. Kurt tried to find any way to exorcise the Dwarf from his thoughts, but it was no use.

Blaine would leave a hole in Kurt’s heart that might never be filled.

Kurt would need to learn to live with being torn in two.

They walked more than they rested and covered quite a bit of ground, traveling until they reached an obliging meadow. It was easy for Kurt and Blaine to set up camp when it was just them two, but with extras in the party and more mouths to feed, much more work had to be done.

Cooper and Puck started the fire.

Mike and Dave prepared bedrolls for sleeping.

Sam and Blaine set out their snares so they could celebrate their first night together with fresh meat and not dried-out rations from the mine.

Kurt gathered grasses and berries nearby. He even pulled out his bow and attempted to hunt, not willing to let Sam best him in Blaine’s eyes.

After six failed attempts, he managed a kill, and Blaine, with his handful of rabbits, beamed at Kurt with pride.

As night began to fall, it did so without a single star, and Kurt began to worry. He left the Dwarves by the campfire to cavort and reunite with their lost companion while he found a tree on a slightly elevated patch of grass and kept watch. He pricked his ears to the sounds all around. He sniffed the air to get a sense of the creatures nearby.

He heard a rustle in the grass, the footfalls of a cricket in the soft peat, the wings of an owl’s feathers cutting through the air, and the slight shifting of fur on a family of mice hunkered down beneath the soil. The scent of the fire reached him, and of rabbits roasting on the spit of the Dwarves, who laughed and sang almost drunkenly even though barely a gulp of mead had been ingested. Kurt laughed when he heard Blaine laugh, the sound warm and comforting. It wrapped around his heart and squeezed hard, leaving a bruise that Kurt hoped would never heal.

He didn’t relish the thought of saying good-bye to Blaine. In his own silly way, he had hoped this day would never come.

The breeze shifted, the fire crackled, and on the crisp air the scent of Orc hit the Elf’s nose. He spun around, peering into the tree line, trying to catch sight of their enemy, but there was none to be seen. The Orcs were far off, and apparently not too inclined to cover the distance to attack a party of Dwarves and their Elf guide this time if it didn’t serve their purpose.

Which meant they had a far more sinister purpose at hand, and Kurt did not like the thought of that at all.

He would allow no more harm to come to Blaine or his kin.

Kurt heard another footfall approach, this one heavier than a cricket or a mouse.

“Blaine?” Kurt called into the dark.

Of course, Kurt already knew who it was traipsing through the grass. There was no mistaking his peculiar limp, though the Dwarf had learned to mask it better. He might be able to hide it from Rangers, maybe even from other Elves, but not from him. Kurt knew the cadence of that walk the way he knew his own heartbeat.

“I have come to relieve you of the watch, my friend,” Blaine said as he approached. It made Kurt’s heart flutter to hear the Dwarf address him so, though Kurt liked to imagine that when Blaine said the word _friend_ that it meant something more.

“No, no,” Kurt said with a chuckle, “go back to your firelight and your drunken kin! Catch up with your brother and drink yourself to sleep. Me and my swords will keep you all safe tonight.” Kurt said the words, but he didn’t feel them. In truth, he didn’t want Blaine to leave.

Blaine's look of concern deepened, and Kurt waved him away.

“Worry not about me,” he insisted. “I shall be fine. Trust that I will be getting no sleep at all tonight.”

“Then, may I beg a seat beside you?” Blaine asked, suddenly sounding shy.

Kurt sat up straight against the tree where his back rested, his blue eyes wide.

“But…but what about…” He gestured toward the fire.

“Oh, I’ll have more time than I care to have to catch up with those ruddy arses,” Blaine joked, “but I feel that my time with you is growing short.”

Kurt smiled at Blaine’s revelation, and keeping his sorrow veiled, he patted the space beside him. Blaine leapt to the spot, settled down, and curled in close. Kurt put an arm around him, feeling protective of the Dwarf despite his best efforts.

“Look at them,” Blaine said, moving closer to his friend, “carrying on as if there isn’t danger lurking everywhere in these woods.”

“Yes,” Kurt agreed with a knowing smirk, “so we’d better stay aware and keep an extra close eye on those trees.”

Blaine tilted his head and took in Kurt’s face, awake and alert, eyes sweeping the meadow.

“Do Elves never sleep?” he asked, surrendering to a yawn.

Kurt hugged Blaine closer.

“We sleep as much as we need, but at this rate I may not sleep until I get safely back to Rivendell.”

“Why no- _awww_ -t?” Blaine asked, another yawn interrupting his words.

Kurt sighed.

“I have far too much to think about.”

“Planning your next epic adventure?” Blaine teased.

“No,” Kurt said emphatically, smiling down at the Dwarf by his side, who looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, “no, no, no. I was wrong.”

Blaine yawned again.

“Wrong about what?”

“About wanting an adventure,” Kurt admitted. “About leaving home. About far too many things.”

“Like…” Blaine pressed, letting his eyelids droop.

“Like the world and my place in it. About my kin. About Dwarves…” Kurt looked down again and smiled even though Blaine’s eyelids had drifted shut and he couldn’t see him. “About you.”

“Me?” Blaine asked. “What about me?”

“Just that…” Kurt’s mouth formed words, but his voice wouldn’t say them out loud.

_That Blaine was wonderful._

_That he treasured their friendship over any in his life._

_That Kurt would miss him._

“That you are the strangest Dwarf I think I shall ever know.”

“And you were wrong about that?” Blaine scrunched his nose in his confusion.

“Yes,” Kurt said adamantly. “That honor now belongs to your brother and that crazy band of miscreants you call a clan.”

Blaine snickered through yet another yawn.

“So…what will you do now?” Blaine asked.

“I really don’t know,” Kurt said. “Try to make amends with my father. Settle down maybe. Make a home. Find someone to share my life with.”

Blaine yawned in earnest, leaning all his weight into Kurt’s side.

“I…I would share my life with you,” Blaine said, sleep slurring the words and transforming them into snores.

Kurt held his breath, waiting to see if Blaine would add an addendum to his statement – something along the lines of, “I would share my life with you if you were but a Dwarf,” or, “I would share my life with you if I were but an Elf.” But Blaine fell swiftly to sleep and had nothing else to say.

Kurt felt the start of tears, and struggled to keep them at bay.

“I would share my life with you, too,” Kurt said, leaning over and placing a small kiss to the head of curls resting against his side. He looked out into the starless sky and let a couple of stray tears fall.

Sitting by the firelight, passing his mug of mead to Puck, Cooper watched his brother and his Elf friend sitting close together beneath a tree some distance away – huddled close and looking content with this time that they got to spend together. Maybe it wasn’t perfect. Maybe many – Dwarves and Elves and Men alike - would disagree with this pairing, but if it made Blaine happy, that’s all that mattered.

Throughout his life, their father had talked to his sons about the legacies he wanted pass on, which included reclaiming a Mountain, renewing old alliances, and reviving a heritage that would soon be snuffed out if Cooper and Blaine were unable to have heirs.

Alas, their father was gone, and their homeland was lost, but Blaine was happy at last, and truthfully that’s exactly what their father would have wanted.

Cooper knew his brother. Blaine didn’t have to say a word for Cooper to know that he was in love.

Joy in life, and family, and love - that was the true legacy of the Heart of the Andurinin Clan.

 


	11. Where One Journey Ends...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Elvish in this chapter was again translated by me. Warning for character death in this chapter (a major Glee character, but not a central character to the story.)

Blaine begged Kurt to retrace their steps back to Rivendell as closely as he could, so that his brother and his clan might have a more accurate depiction of the landscape that they traveled over the adventure that they shared. Kurt did his best, recreating the path that they took where he could, making alterations as necessary to aid the Dwarves where he could since a pair were always tasked with the carrying of the stretcher and their clan leader’s body. Plunging off the side of a cliff was something he logistically could not recreate, so he took them along the shores of the Great River Anduin so that they may have some idea of the peril they faced.

Blaine recounted the stories over and over, each time exaggerating the details a bit more, often times making Kurt look like more of a hero than Kurt remembered being. Listening to Blaine weave these tales of Kurt’s exceptional skill with a sword, how he slayed Orcs left and right with his blade while simultaneously stabbing at them with his arrows, how he dragged Blaine from the arms of certain death one-handed and, without regard for his own life, threw them both off the cliff, made Kurt almost believe that they could be true - that maybe he was the hero he had always dreamed he could be. It also seemed that Cooper wasn’t the only one with a flair for the dramatic. Kurt was certain that Blaine’s companions would see right through these tales, but it didn’t matter. The group of Dwarves ate the stories up – every last word. They never seemed to tire of the telling, even after days of hearing them, and afterward, they each one looked at the Elf differently.

Even Puck seemed to regard Kurt with something close to respect.

After two nights, Kurt could tell that the Evil presence, whatever it had been, had decided to disregard the band of Dwarves and their Elf guide entirely. The Orcs had continued their march South to the Dark Lands and were no longer in the sphere of their concern. Kurt still kept watch by night, less rigidly so now that the stars had returned, and Blaine always joined him, staying close beside him. Kurt was happy to have Blaine with him, and not necessarily out of a need to keep him safe.

The closer they came to Rivendell, the more his heart began to break, and the more bittersweet sleeping beside Blaine became, but he didn’t have the strength to send the Dwarf away.

One night, when the moon returned and it’s silvery light revealed just how close to their destination they were, Kurt felt himself so overwhelmed by his emotions for the Dwarf that he held Blaine close while he slept, kissed the curls on his head, and said in a voice quietly so none, not even Blaine, could hear, “ _Amin mela lle_.”

But Kurt had again underestimated the Dwarf, who turned in his arms to readjust the position of his head from Kurt’s shoulder to his chest, to that point where he could better hear the Elf’s heart beating, and before he settled in enough to fall back into a deep slumber, he smiled and whispered, “I love you, too, Kurt.”

The last day of their journey, as the hillside sloped downward and the waterfalls over Rivendell could be plainly seen from the elevation they traveled, was a day of celebration for the Dwarves. They were eager to find rest and food and, hopefully, an abundance of mead. Even Blaine joked and laughed with the rest of their clan over the prospects of sleeping in a real bed…and of eventually seeing the Blue Mountains again.

For the most part, Kurt walked alone, a distance behind, not unhappy to be close to home, but not glad for it either. He was confused, unsure of where his path would lead from here.

He had had so many dreams as a young Elf – dreams he was sure would never come true. But now he’d lived them. He had gone on the adventure of a lifetime, and he realized that adventure was no longer what he wanted for his life.

But the one thing he found that he did want was the one thing he most likely could not have.

He sighed as he watched Blaine walk with his arm around Sam’s shoulder, meeting his honey-gold eyes when they would glance behind from time to time to catch Kurt’s blue eyes and smile.

Smile because he was happy to be going home, Kurt surmised, but that didn’t keep him from smiling back. Sam pinched Blaine’s side to get his attention, and Kurt scowled at the back of the blond Dwarf’s head.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice called out to Kurt. Kurt turned and saw Cooper separate from the group to join him, and even if it wasn’t the company of the Dwarf he wanted to talk to, Kurt found he was glad to receive Blaine’s older brother.

“Hey, yourself,” Kurt returned with a nod to the elder Andurinin heir. “We are almost at the borders of Rivendell. If we keep up this pace, we will be there before nightfall.”

“I am glad,” Cooper said. “I tire of sleeping on the cold ground. It does my joints a disservice.” Cooper rolled his right shoulder for emphasis.

“Well, don’t you worry, Master Dwarf,” Kurt said with a chuckle, using the title he had once employed as a taunt more fondly on Cooper’s account, “the Elves have long seen us coming, and from what I can tell are preparing to greet us. I can already smell the feast they have started in celebration of our return.”

“Can you?” Cooper asked with his eyes hopeful and wide, lifting his nose to the air and taking a deep sniff. “I envy you your senses, Kurt. You can hear things and see things that I will never hope to.”

Kurt smiled humbly.

“But,” Cooper said, looking Kurt straight in the eyes as he spoke, “you, my lovely Elf, are blind to many things.”

Kurt jerked back a bit, startled.

“I don’t understand,” he said, trying not to sound like he took Cooper’s comment in offense.

Cooper kept his eyes locked with Kurt’s as he spoke.

“I can see in your eyes, Kurt, that you struggle with something, but you struggle needlessly.”

Kurt’s brow furrowed and he shook his head, still not able to comprehend the Dwarf’s meaning.

Blaine laughed suddenly, loud and hearty. It filled the air around them until the sound of the other Dwarves’ laughter mixed with it and overpowered it. Cooper turned to watch his brother join along as the other Dwarves began to sing.

“I am surprised that Blaine has walked so far,” he said in an abrupt change of the subject. “That limp gives him so much trouble. Back in the Mountain, he could barely last an hour traveling the mines before I would have to send him to his bed to rest, but look at him.”

Kurt chuckled.

“When we first started out from Rivendell, he could not keep up,” Kurt said, not willing to admit that he had walked the poor Dwarf to exhaustion for his own selfish purposes. “He tired out so easily. We stopped many times so he could catch his breath.”

“I believe you,” Cooper said. “He’s a much different Dwarf than he was, I’d wager, for now he is much different than even _I_ remember him.”

Kurt looked down at Cooper and tilted his head.

“What ails his leg, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“He hasn’t told you?” Cooper asked, sounding surprised. “I would have thought, what with all you two have been through, that it would have come up.”

Kurt suddenly felt ashamed that it never dawned on him to ask Blaine about it before. At first, it was simply a burden, another reason not to like the peculiar Dwarf. By the time Kurt realized that wasn’t the case, it became a subject he chose to ignore, acknowledging its presence only when he needed to slow down so Blaine could catch up.

“Frankly, no,” Kurt replied, letting his guilt show. “I never asked, and he never offered.”

“Oh, well, it’s no big deal, really,” Cooper said, his tone light as he told the tale. “Father had taken us hunting. Blaine was only about four at the time, I think, and while we were collecting our snares we came across a huge serpent. The thing wanted our rabbit and we were more than happy to give it to him, but father got his foot caught in a burrow hole and he couldn’t pull it free.”

Cooper paused and he and Kurt both looked at Blaine just as Blaine turned back to look at Kurt. When he saw both sets of eyes on him, he blushed bright red and quickly ducked his head, turning back to a rowdy Puck starting on the next verse of their song.

Cooper looked at Kurt, who wore a matching blush on his cheeks. Out of the side of his eye, Kurt caught Cooper watching him. He cleared his throat to continue their conversation.

“So, if it was your father’s foot that became caught, what happened to Blaine?”

“I was busy trying to wrench my father’s foot free, so I didn’t notice when the coiled serpent struck. It sprang forward, aiming for my father’s face and would have certainly struck him in the eye, but Blaine leapt in the way, blocking the attack.”

Kurt turned slowly to look at Cooper, whose voice had become thick as he talked about his brother.

“That snake bite would have blinded my father, no question,” Cooper said with his eyes fixed on Blaine’s laughing face, “but it could have killed my brother. It latched onto his leg and tore some muscles loose. He almost didn’t survive the venom. He pulled through, but his heart…it’s never been as strong as it should.”

If Kurt could have disappeared, he would have. If he could have gone back to that first day leaving Rivendell, he would have changed everything. He had treated Blaine so cruelly, and he thought he had made a proper mends, but he didn’t know about this.

Blaine’s heart – so big and kind and pure…and broken.

“Hey…” Cooper put a comforting hand to Kurt’s back, “it’s alright. You didn’t know.”

 _It does matter_ , Kurt thought. _I didn’t need to know this to be kind to him._

Blaine had taught him that.

“Why are you telling me this?” Kurt said, choking on the words, not looking up at the eyes he knew were staring at him with concern - hazel eyes whose owner was traveling through the throng of Dwarves to get to Kurt.

“I am telling you this,” Cooper said quickly, trying to beat the reach of his brother’s legs, “because my brother gives all to where he loves. His life didn’t matter in the face of that snake if he thought the life of our father was in danger. I see the way you two look at each other. I am not blind to how you two feel. He is not bound to the Blue Mountains, Kurt. Not the way I am. He would give everything – _everything_ – to you, if you but asked him.”

“But, I…”

“Kurt…” Blaine finally reached them, and he put his arm around him, replacing Cooper’s hand on Kurt’s back with his own, “are you alright? You look upset.”

Kurt couldn’t lift his eyes to look into Blaine’s, so Blaine fought to catch Kurt’s.

“Think about what I said to you, Kurt,” Cooper said, breaking away from the couple and joining the group of singing Dwarves short a tenor voice.

“What did he say?” Blaine asked when his brother was out of earshot. “What were you talking about that made you so upset?”

Kurt didn’t answer, but he lifted his head up and averted his eyes away to look at the cliffs of his homeland.

Blaine was not bound to the Mountain. Could he be happy living in the land of the Elves?

Did Kurt have the right to ask, love or not?

“I’m just…” Kurt sighed. He didn’t want to lie to Blaine, but all the truth he had locked inside wasn’t ready to make itself known…not yet. “I’m happy to be home.”

***

Kurt had been right about the feast. As the golden sun began to dip toward the horizon, roasted meat could be smelled from miles off, which quickened the Dwarves’ steps for the last leg of their journey.

They passed through the stone gateway to Rivendell shy of sunset, and a huge assemblage of Elves and a few Blue Mountain Dwarves of other clans were there to greet them. Music swelled in the cool air from unseen instruments, and Blaine wondered if it was produced by some sort of magic spell. It was a beautiful sound, to be sure, but it paled in comparison to Kurt’s voice in Blaine’s opinion. Elves and Dwarves cheered, and many hands reached out to greet the tired and dirty traveling party. A congregation of Elves in blue and silver robes relieved the Mike and Puck of the stretcher that bore the Dwarf Lord’s body, carrying him away to a sacred place where his body would be protected for the time being.

Kurt and Blaine kept their hands locked together, which received many questioning looks from those who saw them, but Kurt was so overcome by being home – finally being home - that he didn’t notice. He searched the crowd of well-wishers for his father and his stepmother, but most especially his brother, hoping that he had returned while Kurt was away. Kurt still wondered about the appearance of the Rohirrim in that small wood, and whether or not his brother had been riding with them.

It would have been nice to know that there was a friend among them during that dire time, that maybe a swing of his brother’s sword or a well-aimed arrow from his bow had changed the turn of the tide in their hour of need.

As Kurt’s eyes swept the smiles around them, one familiar face approached with a fanfare of silver horns, signaling everyone else to move aside.

“Kurt,” the warm, fatherly voice of Lord Elrond addressed him as the Great Elf King rested his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, “ _Lle naa mae govannen_.” Kurt returned his smile and bowed graciously. Lord Elrond fixed his eyes on the Dwarves with the same warmth, stopping at the joined hands of Kurt and Blaine. “As you are all well met,” he said to the company, repeating his greeting to Kurt in the common tongue for those present to hear. “You who have been lost are now found, and many a Dwarf and Elf alike are glad to see you return.”

The Dwarves murmured their thanks at the king’s welcome, though they all seemed a little crestfallen at the mention of those _lost_ being _found_.

“I am sorry to hear of the death of your father, Blaine and Cooper, heirs of the Andurinin Clan,” Lord Elrond said softly. “He was an exceptional Dwarf, and a good friend.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace,” Cooper said with a dignified bow.

Lord Elrond opened his arms to those gathered.

“There will be a great feast this evening,” he announced, “to celebrate the return of our brother...” he said with a hand resting on Kurt’s hair, “and our friends,” he said with a sweeping gesture of his arm to the Dwarf party.

He turned a kind face to Blaine and Cooper.

“Then tomorrow we will discuss provisions for getting your father home.”

Blaine nodded.

“On behalf of myself and my kin, I thank you.”

Elves and Dwarves gathered the visitors and led them away to a place where they might wash and rest before the start of the big celebration, but when Kurt turned to follow Blaine out of the hall, Lord Elrond took his arm and held it.

“I have need to speak to you further, Kurt,” he said. “It is a matter of some importance.”

“Is it the reason why my father and stepmother are not here to receive me?” Kurt asked. He didn’t necessarily expect his father to be waiting at the gates to meet him, though he had deeply wished for it, but he was surprised to see that his stepmother had not come. It could have simply been a matter of tending to his father’s wounded pride at his disgraceful son actually coming home, and a hero to boot, but it still disturbed him. Hearing Lord Elrond address it outright to him, however, caused a hard lump to form in his chest. It grew with each second that passed, and with it a dread bloomed.

“Yes,” Lord Elrond said. His eyes shifted to where Blaine stood, holding tight to Kurt’s hand.

“It’s alright,” Kurt said to the Elf King. “I have a feeling that whatever you’re about to tell me, I’m going to need a friend beside me, and I would wish none other than Blaine.”

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand, and Kurt could feel his smile even if he didn’t turn his eyes away from Lord Elrond to see it.

“Yes,” Lord Elrond agreed. “Yes, I believe you are right.” He turned his eyes away from the Dwarf and looked back at Kurt. His smile dipped only a little, but enough of it remained to soften his words.

“I am grieved to have to inform you, Kurt,” the good King said, “that your brother Finn is dead.”

 


	12. ... Another Journey Begins

Kurt was stunned when he left the hall of Lord Elrond, unable to speak, unable to breathe, unsure of how he was expected to go on. He felt his entire body begin to dissolve on the inside, while just a shell of him remained. He allowed Blaine to lead him along while his brain fought to come to terms with his grief – but there were no words for it. There was nothing in his mind that knew how to deal with this sort of pain.

So, his mind tried denial.

No. Finn couldn’t be dead. He just hadn’t come home yet. If Kurt waited long enough, if he was patient, Finn would bound up to the stone gates and grab Kurt around the stomach the way he always did, spinning him around and threatening to toss him like a boomerang.

Kurt didn’t want to live in a world without Finn in it, so this could not stand.

The denial wasn’t strong enough, however, to overturn the truth.

Lord Elrond didn’t tell Kurt how his brother died and Kurt didn’t care. The _how_ wasn’t important. Knowing wouldn’t make handling his death any easier. Regardless of what happened to Finn, he was gone, and there was no bringing him back.

Kurt didn’t return to his father’s house after receiving word of his brother’s untimely death, opting instead to go with Blaine to the rooms that had been arranged for the Dwarves to occupy upon their arrival. He knew his father and stepmother wouldn’t be at home, as Lord Elrond said they were still making arrangements for Finn’s body to be sent to the Undying Lands, but his father’s presence wasn’t what kept him from his home.

Kurt simply couldn’t bear going there.

He couldn’t bear to see the room that he and Finn had shared, to see all of his clothes and all of his belongings lying around the way he had left them. He couldn’t bear to see their little make-shift archery range, and all the places they had played.

He couldn’t bear to see the ring Finn had been carving for the Elf he had so wished to marry.

There were too many ghosts waiting for Kurt at home.

No, he couldn’t go back there.

He wasn’t sure if he would be able to return home ever again.

The Dwarves of Blaine’s clan were already in their rooms, talking and laughing, making excited plans for their upcoming journey back to the Blue Mountains. Blaine left Kurt to rest in his room while he went to talk to his kin, but Kurt could not sit still and wait. Instead, he went down to the waterfall to bathe. He let the cold, violent water beat away the dirt from his skin, the exhaustion from his muscles, and the ache from his heart. He wept beneath the water where no one could see. He wept for himself and for his stepmother. He wept for Blaine and for Cooper. He wept because, even if before arriving home he felt unsure about his feelings for Blaine, right now, without his big brother to talk to, he felt utterly lost.

Blaine bathed with his brother and his clan at a different end of the river, knowing that Kurt needed to be alone. The visiting Dwarves from the Blue Mountains had brought with them garments in the hopes of their friends’ return, and Blaine retreated to where those garments were kept to dry and dress. When he returned to his room, he found Kurt standing on the balcony, looking over the water, the walkways, and the lines of trees, watching the visiting dignitaries arrive, watching the lanterns all around being lit in preparation for the feast. He wore a tunic and pants of shimmering ice blue – a shade that complimented his own clear blue eyes - and a gold chain around his neck with a glittering golden charm hanging from it. It swirled in the creation of a foreign symbol that Blaine did not recognize, wrapping around a small jewel that glowed from within.

Blaine had never seen Kurt dressed so regally.

It suited him.

Blaine sighed.

This was where Kurt belonged - in a grand home with fine clothes and jewels.

As a Blue Mountain Dwarf, could he give Kurt that?

Could a Rivendell Elf be happy living in a Mountain?

Would it be fair of Blaine to ask?

“You are staring, Master Dwarf,” Kurt said without turning his head, a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“I apologize, Master Elf,” Blaine said, “but it is not often that I get the chance to see a view…so glorious.”

Kurt ducked his head and blushed high on his pale cheeks.

“Is it the moonlit sky that you refer to?” he asked. “Or the lanterns lighting the water? Or maybe the splendor that _is_ Rivendell, The Jewel of the River?”

“All of those things are glorious, Kurt,” Blaine said, walking over to where the Elf stood, “but none of them are quite so glorious as you.”

Kurt’s cheeks became darker, his smile wider.

“Are all Dwarves as charming as you?” Kurt asked.

“Maybe Puck,” Blaine replied, shrugging his left shoulder as his right shoulder still stung when he moved it.

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” Kurt chuckled.

“He can be quite charming when he wants to be,” Blaine divulged.

“Be that as it may, your flowery words are still wasted on me,” Kurt said sadly, staring down at the railing of pearlescent stone beneath his hands.

“I never thought so,” Blaine admitted, putting a hand over Kurt’s. “I still don’t.”

Blaine reached out his right hand, shaky as it was, and lifted the charm from Kurt’s chest.

“What is this?” Blaine asked, turning the charm over in his hand, seeing how the gem caught the light and reflected a multitude of colors.

“It is a medal,” Kurt said, “Lord Elrond left it for me with this fine suit. The symbol means _protector_.”

“And the jewel?” Blaine asked, marveling at its beauty.

“It contains the light of Eärendil, our most beloved star,” Kurt said. “It is said to shine brightly in the presence of an indomitable spirit.”

“Eärendil?” Blaine repeated, mesmerized by the brilliant gem.

“Yes,” Kurt said, “the father of Lord Elrond, so receiving this…it is a great honor.”

Blaine nodded, resting the charm and its gem carefully back against Kurt’s chest.

“Kurt…” Blaine had left something unsaid that he shouldn’t have and he regretted it. He couldn’t help it. At the time, the pain was still too new. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

Kurt’s smile faded; Blaine regretted that more.

“Thank you,” Kurt replied. “He was very dear to me.”

“Will we see your father at the feast?” Blaine asked. “He must be proud of you.”

Kurt didn’t want to be bitter with Blaine, especially considering that this might be the last night they had together.

“I don’t know,” he said, keeping his voice even and empty, bereft of feeling.

Kurt turned to the Dwarf and laid eyes upon him for the first time that night. He was cleaned of the dirt of their journey and dressed in a fine tunic of emerald green cloth, with a tooled leather belt hanging around his waist over a pair of brown leather pants. Kurt smiled at the sight of his handsome Dwarf dressed like the heir he was – like a Dwarf Prince.

“You clean up rather well,” Kurt commented, raising a palm to Blaine’s face and caressing his cheek. Blaine turned his head to place a small kiss in Kurt’s hand. “Why did you lie to me before, by the way?” Kurt asked. “I am not fond of lies.”

Blaine looked up at Kurt with a furrowed brow.

“When did I lie?” Blaine asked.

“When you told me you were not a Prince of your people,” Kurt said. “You are a Dwarf Lord’s son. You are the heir to the Missing Mountain.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said, looking up at the Elf through dark lashes, “none of that makes me a Prince.”

“Well…” Kurt leaned low and looked into Blaine’s eyes, “you look like a Prince to me.”

Kurt kissed Blaine gently, stealing a moment to strengthen his nerve with a kiss from Blaine’s lips before he was paraded before all of Rivendell.

“Hey, guys!” Sam’s voice called in through the door before the Dwarf burst in. “We’re ready to head down if _ooooh_!”

Blaine chuckled and Kurt sighed against his mouth, not willing to break the kiss to express his annoyance.

“I hate him,” Kurt slipped, and Blaine laughed long and loud.

“That’s such a shame,” Blaine whispered, pecking another kiss to Kurt’s lips before stepping away, “because he _adores_ you. They all do. Especially Dave.”

“That’s great,” Kurt said dryly.

“Come,” Blaine said, tugging on Kurt’s arm. “Lead me to the Great Hall, Master Elf.”

Kurt threaded his fingers through Blaine’s and led him to the door, where he could hear Sam whispering loudly (in a way that was not really whispering) about catching Kurt and Blaine kiss. They all muttered among themselves, throwing questions back and forth.

“Do you think he’ll come with us?”

“Do you think Blaine’s going to stay?”

“Would an Elf even agree to live in a Mountain?”

“Do you think they’re going to have any pipe weed at the feast?”

The last question was Puck’s, completely unconcerned with the romantic dalliances of Blaine and his Elf.

“I dare say not, Master Dwarf,” Kurt said as he exited the room with Blaine in tow, “but who knows. There is many a face walking through the gates of Rivendell that I do not recognize. Maybe someone will have some.”

The Dwarves’ eyes went wide when they beheld the Elf leading their friend from the room.

“Do all Elves look like Angels?” Dave whispered to Mike.

“From what we’ve seen so far, probably,” Mike said, pushing at Dave’s shoulder to get him to move along. “But I would recommend keeping your eyes to yourself,” Mike suggested, “especially where Kurt’s concerned.”

***

The Great Hall of Rivendell was filled with Elves and Dwarves and Men – even a Wizard or two - all talking in groups of their own kind when Kurt and the Dwarves of the Andurinin Clan entered. Kurt heard strange snippets of conversations, mention of Orcs and the battles of the Rohirrim, and some more about the nameless, faceless Evil that Lord Elrond had feared. Kurt yet had the opportunity to tell them all what he and Blaine had seen on their journey, but there would be time for that. Tonight was a celebration, and Kurt hoped that this feast might help him keep his mind off of his troubles – at least for a while.

The room silenced immediately at their appearance and Kurt began having second thoughts, not accustomed to being the center of attention.

Out of all in attendance, it was Lord Elrond who approached the party, standing anxiously in the doorway, arms outstretched in greeting. He smiled at one and all, but focused in on Kurt and embraced him.

“ _Cormamin lindua ele lle_ , Kurt,” he said.

Kurt was taken aback by the greeting.

“My heart sings to see thee.”

It was something he would have expected from his own father if he was willing to offer Kurt any form of affection.

Kurt looked to him in question, but Lord Elrond’s eyes drifted to a point over Kurt’s shoulder, past the Dwarves to the doorway where they had just come. When they returned to the young Elf’s face, they were sympathetic and weary.

“Remember always, dearest Kurt, that you are a proud son of Rivendell. Your name will hold a place of honor here in these hallowed halls.”

This struck Kurt as even more bizarre than his greeting, but to be an honored son of Rivendell was a high accolade, and Kurt would be an abysmal ass to take it for granted.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Kurt said. He bent to bow low, but Lord Elrond stopped him.

“There is no need for you to bow to anyone tonight, Kurt,” the kind King said. He raised a hand to Kurt’s cheek, and with a sad smile he turned and walked away. Kurt looked down at Blaine, who looked back at him with awe.

Then Kurt turned to address the Dwarves, to invite them to join the multitude of their friends and enjoy the celebration.

That’s when Kurt saw him.

Standing in the doorway, waiting – not to enter, not to join the celebration, just waiting.

Kurt’s father, dressed in a plain brown tunic and cloak, his eyes red from crying, but his expression blank, as if all emotion in him had gone and he had none left to offer his son.

Seeing his father brought Kurt’s own pain back. It flooded through him. It filled him from the center of his broken heart and spread out to every limb, every muscle, every pore. There was no kindness in his father’s eyes, but Kurt felt the need to go to him and try to comfort him. He broke away from Blaine and the party of Dwarves, and went to him. It took ten short steps to get to him, and all the while Kurt hoped he would open his arms to him and embrace him, the way Lord Elrond did. Then they could put the past behind them and start anew, bound together by this great pain of his brother’s death.

It would be something they had in common. They could share it like a bitter drink, comforted by the fact that each mourned the same.

Maybe if they couldn’t be father and son, at least they could be friends.

But his father didn’t open his arms to him. He stood in the threshold as if he were made of stone. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes were accusing, following Kurt’s every step until he stopped in front of him.

“I did it, father,” Kurt said, trying not to sound too proud. “I completed the quest set out for me.”

Kurt’s father stared at him, his eyes not moving from his face.

Kurt swallowed hard.

“A-and I realized that you were right,” Kurt stuttered, his confidence slipping beneath his father’s glare. “My place is here...in Rivendell. No more adventures for me.”

His father’s eyes finally moved, raking down Kurt’s body – at the clothes he wore, stopping on the jewel around his neck. His father’s face crumbled when he beheld it, the way it glowed with the blessed light within.

“You are here,” his father said slowly, his voice laced with animus, “and your brother is dead.”

Kurt fought the urge to take a step back, but he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. He clasped them together in front of him to still them, but the quaking in his arms was just too strong.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” Kurt said. “I didn’t mean…”

“You are here,” the elder Elf repeated, “and your brother is dead!”

The music stopped, and the crowd in the room ended their conversations to stare at a father berating his son.

Kurt didn’t care about their attentions now. He gasped, bringing a trembling hand to his lips when he finally understood his father’s meaning.

“You…you wish that it had been me, don’t you?” Kurt whispered. “You wish that I had died in his place.”

His father didn’t have the decency to look guilty or ashamed, his eyes hard and cold as the silver starlight streaming in through the window.

“Yes,” he said - a whisper but a clear one. “That is my wish. To have my brave, beloved son here by my side while my wretched by-blow died in the wild.”

Kurt heard another gasp, but not his own. It came from behind him, where one Dwarf stayed to insure that Kurt would be alright.

Kurt’s blue eyes burned with embarrassment, with hate, with agony.

In one day he had lost a brother, and now he was about to lose his father.

Kurt approached his father until they were nose to nose, and his father flinched at the thought of his son touching him.

“Well, since you have been denied the son that pleased you, and you are so eager to be rid of the one you despise, then I will not bother you any longer,” Kurt said with as much malice as he could conjure. “You may consider me dead as well. A victim of the Spiders, perhaps, or of the Orcs. Tell our kin whatever story suits you best.”

Kurt didn’t bother waiting to see if his father would have a change of heart. He turned and left the room. All in the room remained quiet when Kurt left, unsure what to do now that one of the guests of honor had walked out of the feast. In a time, Kurt’s father left as well, taking a different path than his son and returning home to his distraught wife.

Blaine made to leave, too, to follow Kurt in hopes of soothing him, but Cooper caught his arm and stopped him.

“Give him time to grieve,” Cooper said. “You cannot help him with this. Not yet.”

***

Kurt did not return for Lord Elrond’s speech. He was thanked briefly and in absentia, and then each Dwarf was acknowledged in turn. Blaine almost missed his moment, staring, as he was, at the doorway to the hall, waiting for Kurt to return.

Blaine waited for the feast to officially begin, and as soon as it seemed proper – as soon as he had shaken all the appropriate hands and been reunited with Artie for a spell – he snuck away out of the hall and into the night, hoping that Kurt hadn’t gotten too far away. He knew that Kurt probably knew all of Rivendell like the back of his hand, and with all of the rocky cliffs and waterfalls, he could escape away to a place where Blaine wouldn’t be able to follow.

But as luck would have it, he found Kurt standing on a hill overlooking houses beyond the hillside, one small one in particular in his line of sight with no lights in the windows standing like a blight against the verdant green.

Blaine knew that Kurt heard him even though he didn’t turn to watch him approach.

“Why have you left the party, Blaine?” Kurt asked in an offhanded, conversational way. “Tonight is for you and your kin.”

“And for you as well,” Blaine said. “You did not return for the feast, and I became worried that you may have left…without saying goodbye.”

“I would never do that,” Kurt whispered, sniffling slightly.

Blaine walked up to Kurt’s side and stopped - not fighting for his focus, just standing beside him.

“I have been given the title of Elf-friend,” Blaine said, puffing up his chest with pride. Kurt looked down at him, posing ridiculously, and even though his eyes were swollen and red from crying, he laughed at the sight.

“It is a title well given,” Kurt agreed, his smile wavering. “In fact, I know few who deserve it more.”

Kurt sighed, lifting his head and looking back at the hillside.

“Where will you go?” Kurt asked. “When you and your clan leave here, will you return to the Blue Mountains?”

“Aye,” Blaine said sadly, not wanting to be reminded that, without any declarations or reassurances from the Elf, he most likely would be leaving Kurt behind. “We will have our supplies, and Artie is ready to be moved now, so I guess I’ll return to the Blue Mountains.”

Kurt nodded.

“I thought as much,” he said, turning away from the house with the dark windows and looking instead off to the distance, in the direction of the Blue Mountains.

“What will _you_ do, Kurt?” Blaine asked. “What are you planning for your future?”

“I…” Kurt hadn’t expected that question. He actually hadn’t planned for any conversation with Blaine after the feast. Even with the burden of his father’s hate bearing down on him like the Mountain itself attempting to crush him, trying to push him underground, he still imagined he would have to return to his father’s house and endure his anger and his indifference - that he would have to live with the ghost of his brother hanging forever over him, along with the idea that his father will always be thinking that it should have been _him_ dying on his quest in the place of Finn.

Kurt turned to Blaine with his mouth hanging open, trying to find an answer, but the only answer he had was that he had consigned himself to a life of being nothing, and to Kurt it sounded more like a death sentence.

“Blaine, I…I can’t go back. I just…I can’t,” he stammered, and once he started, he was unable to stop. “I can’t live with my father’s hate. I can’t live here without my brother. I need to go…I don’t know where. And I know that I can survive on my own, but I’d rather…” Kurt took a deep breath to steady himself. Kurt had never really confessed to needing anyone before, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it if Blaine turned him away.

But being with Blaine could be the start of an amazing adventure, and all adventures began with a single step outside of one’s door.

“I would rather stay with you, if you don’t mind.”

Blaine seemed dumbfounded by Kurt’s confession, and the speed in which he received it, but that expression of bewilderment soon made way to a huge grin. Blaine reached a hand out for Kurt’s and took it.

“I’ll follow you, Kurt,” Blaine said, pressing a kiss to the back of Kurt’s hand, “wherever you lead.”

Kurt nodded at Blaine’s answer, relieved more than he could show that Blaine accepted him. That, despite all of his objections to the contrary, Kurt would be starting another adventure.

Kurt held Blaine’s hand, and led him away from the hillside…back to his room

***

The following morning, Blaine and Cooper met with Lord Elrond and prepared for the trip to the Blue Mountains. The Elves generously supplied the Dwarves with all they would need. They had planned to travel with the other Blue Mountains Dwarves, as they had offered to help with Artie.

Lord Elrond was not surprised when Kurt said he would be leaving with them…and that he would not be coming back.

The Dwarves stayed one more day and night, which gave Kurt’s stepmother a chance to stop by and say her goodbyes.

“You know, I always thought of you as my son,” she confessed as she held him tight in her arms, “and your brother would be so proud of you. So proud.”

Kurt spent the day shouldering his stepmother’s sobs and the night crying with his head against Blaine’s chest, wishing that morning would hurry up and come.

The Dwarves left at sun-up, quietly, to no fanfare or outlandish celebration. With Kurt among them, they needed no escort to the border of Rivendell, which was fine by most of the Dwarves, who had had their fill of Elves for a while.

Kurt watched them talk among themselves and hoped that whatever had been gained by his and Blaine’s adventure with regard to renewing friendships among the Elves and the Dwarves had done its part…but one look at these other Dwarves and Kurt seemed to doubt it.

“Are you ready, Master Elf?” Blaine asked, extending a hand to Kurt, hoping he still had a mind to take it.

Kurt looked at Blaine’s offered hand and smiled.

“Lead the way, Master Dwarf,” Kurt said. “Lead the way.”

Lord Elrond watched from his balcony as Kurt took Blaine’s hand and walked away, out of the Elf Lands and into the Forest. He would miss the young Elf, but he hoped that this new journey would end, as all journeys should end, by showing Kurt and Blaine the road to a home they could call their own.

Lord Elrond would not set eyes on either Elf or Dwarf again for almost an entire age, when the Evil he had feared would make itself known, when the One Ring had been found, and the battle for Middle-earth had been fought and won. It was not until he set out from the Grey Havens in his boat to sail for the Undying Lands that Lord Elrond would look over the stern of his ship and see the Elf and his Dwarf companion one last time. Blaine looked older, so much older than his original thirty-five years, with a proper Dwarf beard, and his head of black curls going silver, but Kurt looked ever the same. Kurt watched his kin leave the shores in their many ships. When he saw Lord Elrond, he smiled sadly and waved goodbye. With a heavy heart Lord Elrond knew that he had lost another Elf to mortal love. Like his daughter, Arwen Undómiel, Kurt had decided to give up his claim to the Grace of the Valar.

Kurt had chosen a mortal life - to live and die for the sake of love - with Blaine on Middle-earth.

_And they remained very happy to the end of their days, and for both Elf and Dwarf, those days were extraordinarily long._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In hommage to The Hobbit, my last line is a variation of the last line of There and Back Again, a Hobbit's Tale, which referred to the life of Bilbo Baggins.


End file.
